


Where the Lines Overlap

by llyrical



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe - College/University, Art School, Designer!Mabel, F/F, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Nude Modeling, Photographer!Pacifica, for artistic purposes!, hipster AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-18 10:24:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4702565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llyrical/pseuds/llyrical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Pacifica, attending an art school on the opposite side of the country from her parents was an opportunity to get her degree and maybe find out something important about herself along the way. While handmade dresses, nude modeling, and impromptu coffee dates weren't exactly on her list of things she <i>expected</i> to find herself enjoying, she couldn't deny that they did the job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (deep breath) I said I wasn't going to start anything new before I finished the billion things I have in-progress already, but I got a lot of requests to write chaptered mabifica with background billdip, and then I created the Hipster AU, and then this sorta just... happened. 
> 
> This takes place in a total AU - no magical stuff whatsoever, and the twins have never been to Gravity Falls. 
> 
> I hope you like it! Let's see where this goes.

The air was crisp, autumn settling in nicely and changing the colors of the trees from a dull green to a vibrant red. A freshly-brewed white mocha was clutched tightly in the hand of one Mabel Pines as she headed for the door of her campus’ Starbucks, hand-knit purple scarf flaring out behind her as her shoes pattered quietly on the tile floor, one foot getting caught up in the other and sending her stumbling forward. 

Crisp air, red leaves, a purple scarf, and Mabel’s mocha, now spilled onto the dress and shoes of a very blonde, _very_ annoyed-looking girl. 

The art student couldn’t help but gape, even as her cardboard cup clattered to the floor and dripped out its remaining contents for an underpaid employee to mop up later. The victim of her catastrophe seemed just as shocked, hands still outstretched as if she could wind back time and save the dress than Mabel was now worrying was designer. 

In fact, there wasn’t much about this girl that _didn’t_ scream “I’m rich and not afraid to show it,” from her silk infinity scarf down to her leather (coffee-splattered) boots. Her nails were freshly-manicured, evident even as her hands clenched tightly into fists and her eyes narrowed. Blonde hair fell naturally straight down her back, jumping as her head snapped up so she could give Mabel a glare that could have frozen over Hell. 

“Oh my god,” Mabel blurted, because really, what else was there to say? “I’m _so_ sorry.” Oh, right. That. 

The girl’s upper lip curled back into what was almost a snarl as she stared down at her dress. Oh, god, her _dress_ , why did it have to be _white_?! Well, off-white with a black lattice stitching, but it would be impossible to take out the coffee stain all the same.

“I- I can buy you a new dress,” she offered, eyes dropping to her fallen cup and the little coffee that stained her own Mary Janes, mocking her. Her own outfit, an oversized galaxy-print sweater thrown over yoga pants, could have taken the blow; the blonde’s outfit couldn’t. 

“Doubtful,” the girl snapped. “It’s Versace.”

Mabel’s heart plummeted into her stomach as she recalled flipping through her mother’s magazines and gaping, browsing through Bloomingdale’s and blinking at price tags with four-digit numbers. “I… can buy you a coffee?” She offered a playful grin. The girl didn’t return it. 

Instead, she stared at Mabel in angered disbelief before giving a, “Hmmph!” and turning on her heel, swiftly exiting the coffee shop without buying what she came in for or attempting to sop up any of the liquid ruining her outfit. 

Mabel’s cheeks burned even though she knew that most of the shop’s patrons were too focused on typing papers or chatting with friends to notice the incident. She grabbed a handful of napkins and set to work cleaning up her mess before a worker was forced to offer to do it instead. 

_I can’t believe I pulled a Dipper,_ she thought as she tossed her empty cup and napkins into the trash. Pulling her phone out of her pocket revealed that she didn’t have much time left to get to class, so she washed her hands quickly in the shop’s bathroom before going back out into the cold. 

The cool air felt nice against her warm face, and she tried to push the situation out of her mind. For now. Just until class was over. 

\-----

Class didn’t last forever, and the moment she was back in her apartment, the memory of the blonde girl was back to haunt her brain and nag at her until she eventually resolved to call the one person she knew who was used to humiliating himself on a daily basis. 

“It was _awful_ , Dipper!” she cried, pulling one of the couch’s embroidered throw pillows up to cover her face. From the other side of the country, her twin brother sighed. 

“People spill their drinks on other people all the time,” Dipper offered (of course _he_ would say that; Dipper was klutz central). She didn’t pull her face out of the pillow, but she could imagine that he was shrugging into his webcam. 

“You don’t get it,” she groaned into the pillow, voice muffled. “You don’t get it,” she repeated as she pulled the velvet away from her face, giving her brother her best woe-is-me look. He rolled his eyes. “I ruined her _dress_. Her _Versace_ dress.” By the blank look the boy gave her, he had no idea what that meant, and now it was _her_ turn to roll her eyes. “I’m a fashion student, Dipper! I’m a fashion student and I _killed_ a brand-name dress! Killed it, dug its grave, and threw it in!”

Her twin tried not to look amused, giving her an unimpressed stare before cocking an eyebrow, lips twitching as he fought not to smile. “Yeah, Mabes, you’re a _fashion_ student,” he said slowly, looking expectant. When she just frowned again, he sighed and continued, “If anybody could figure out how to _revive_ a dead brand-name dress, it’d be you.”

She stared blankly at her computer screen and her brother’s goofy smile. “Dipdop, no amount of tailoring could cover up-” She broke off as it hit her and she gasped, eyes widening. “Dipper, you’re a genius!”

His smile turned smug. “Well, I do like to think-”

“Gotta go, Dippingsauce!” Her cursor hovered over the “end call” button as she bounced excitedly in her seat, shaking the computer on her lap and making her webcam’s projection of her look blurry in the bottom righthand corner of her screen.

“Wait, Mabel-”

“Bye!”

She ended the call and slammed her laptop shut, setting it down and jumping up off the couch. She had some shopping to do.

\-----

Her Mabel Logic was eager but concise: if she couldn’t buy the girl a new dress, she’d make one.

It was impossible to accurately guess the blonde girl’s dress size, but Mabel was an expert. She took her memory of the girl’s overall form along with the knowledge that the blonde had been at least a good two inches taller than her to get an approximate. The girl had worn a black jacket over her dress, but Mabel knew enough about how fabric sits over skin to recognize how much thickness the jacket added to the girl’s form. 

Overall, the girl had been tall and slender, in a healthy-looking kind of way. She was likely an avid exerciser, or at the very least a _very_ healthy eater, and Mabel took this into account as she measured and cut fabric. 

She had planned to replicate the dress to the best of her abilities, but she got a little… sidetracked. She got as far as keeping the just-barely-cream color and the black lattice pattern, but she couldn’t help but add an autumnal twist to it. Stitchings of varying shades of red and orange fell in with the black, giving the dress a colorful pop.

It wasn’t a brightly-colored cat sweater like the many that filled her closet at her home in California, but it still screamed “Mabel” just as loudly as any of them did. 

In between classes, studying, and sleep, it took her nearly a week to put the finishing touches on the dress. When she was satisfied with the final outcome, she hand-stitched her name and the instructions, _“Hand Wash Only!!!”_ onto tag fabric and sewed it into the inside hem. 

An original Mabel creation! Made with as much love as she could give to a complete stranger.

She was hesitant to fold it but had no choice but to, and she tucked it into several layers of tissue paper before placing it into a gift box. The box was tied with a bow that she re-tied a dozen times before finally being satisfied. She considered adding a handwritten note, but there really wasn’t much more to say. Hopefully, the dress would speak enough itself.

Now came the difficult part.

\-----

Maybe expecting the girl to return to the same Starbucks was a bit too hopeful. 

The first day that Mabel entered the coffee shop, fancy gift box in hand, she had come in with all of the enthusiasm that had overcome her while making the dress itself. She decided that her best bet was to come at the same time that she had encountered the girl the first time, around ten in the morning. The girl had looked to be about her age and definitely had the hipster-y appearance of an art student, so there was a good chance that she attended the same university and would stop in for a coffee before class.

Mabel sipped her mocha from a table facing the door for a good hour before she had to give up and get ready for Calculus. 

On the second day, she brought work with her. She sketched out skirt designs and nibbled at a scone while the box sat on her table, untouched. She spent the better part of two hours watching the door expectantly, perking up at every head of blonde hair only to deflate when it wasn’t accompanied by icy blue eyes and too-nice clothes.

She let her mind wander to the girl as her pencil etched across her sketchbook. What was her name? What was her story? What would _she_ order at Starbucks? 

Today wouldn’t be the day for her to find out. When she still hadn’t shown up and Mabel had to leave for class, she considered just leaving the box with the barista and and giving her best description of her mystery girl. But she couldn’t. She had spent too much time fretting over the dress to risk it ending up in the hands of somebody other than the actual girl herself.

Plus, she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t eager to see how the girl reacted. 

On the third day, she watched cat videos on her laptop and drank an iced tea. The Starbucks was full of students this morning, kids rushing to study for midterms and taking up every available table, and when an elderly man asked if he could sit opposite her to drink his coffee, she said yes and chattered aimlessly to him about her girl. She learned that his name was Henry and even when she got invested in a story about his late wife, she didn’t let her attention wander too far from the door. 

On the fourth day, she had class in the morning and wasn’t able to stop in until late afternoon. Though it went away from her surefire plan of the girl arriving at the same time as the week before, she figured it was worth a shot and it allowed her time to type a paper for her English class. A barista finally asked her if she was waiting for somebody special, and Mabel perked up at that word. “Special.” Her mystery girl. 

Somehow, this girl had continued to completely consume her thoughts. Mabel had only interacted with her for a minute, and the only words she had heard the girl speak were short and flat-out _rude_ , but she couldn’t deny that she was slightly infatuated. 

Mysteries were Dipper’s thing, not hers. But there was something exciting about this, about waiting so eagerly for a girl that she knew nothing about other than the fact that she had enough money to wear Versace and not be hesitant to show it off. It was thrilling, just the thing she needed to make her slow first semester at college heat up just as the weather got cold. 

“Sort of,” she answered with a grin. 

On the fifth day, Mabel was so hopeful to see the dress owner that she worried she was hallucinating when the girl actually walked through the door.

But there she was, a dark green slouch-beanie in place on her head and a white sweater dress hugging her form. She slipped sunglasses off her face and into her plum-colored purse as she walked through the door, and Mabel was on her feet with the gift box in her hands before the girl had taken three steps.

The girl stopped shortly, the clicking of her heels pausing as she reared back in surprise. Her eyes widened as she recognized Mabel and her giant grin, then quickly flew to the lavender box in her hands, brows narrowing. 

“Hi!” Mabel started, thrusting her arms out and offering the box. The girl took a half-step back, scarlet-tinted lips parting in surprise. “Hi, I’m not sure you remember me-?”

“Coffee girl,” she replied, expression souring as her eyes once again moved from Mabel’s face back down to the box. Her hands were brought up towards her chest, moving slowly as if she was considering accepting the box but worried it would bite.

“That’s me!” she answered cheerily, shaking the box slightly. The girl took it but held it with the tips of her fingers, still looking hesitant. “So, you were right that I can’t afford to replace your dress, so I made you a new one!” 

“You made-” The girl broke off, clutching the box a bit more solidly despite now looking like she truly believed Mabel insane. She readjusted her purse strap on her shoulder before swiftly pulling the bow undone and tucking the lid beneath the box, fingers quickly moving to pull away the tissue paper. 

The girl couldn’t properly pull the dress out with one hand, especially standing in the middle of Starbucks as college students roughly pushed past them on their way to the counter or their way out the door, but she clutched at the fabric anyways, eyes wide. Mabel was hit with a sudden surge of self-consciousness and an overwhelming desire for this girl to like her creation.

She shouldn’t care so much; she didn’t even know this girl. But there was something deep inside of her that longed to see the other girl’s face light up, to see a real smile on her face. 

She wasn’t saying anything, so Mabel had to fill the silence. “I had to guess on your size, but I think I got pretty close. And I added some color to it, too, so I hope that’s okay…” She trailed off as she reexamined the girl’s outfit, noting that she was, once again, wearing white. The blonde’s eyes still hadn’t left the dress, fingers trailing lightly over the stitching, so Mabel joked, “I know it’s no Versace, but-”

“Thank you.” 

“-it’s definitely original- wait, what?”

The girl still looked shocked, and while she wasn’t smiling, there was something in her eyes that made Mabel believe her words. “Thank you for this,” she repeated, shaking the box slightly. “You didn’t have to… I mean, it was an accident. I… I overreacted. You didn’t have to put so much work into this. And then you- wait.” She frowned, and Mabel’s heart sank as her overwhelming relief at the fact that the girl liked the dress quickly dissipated back into nervousness; she desperately wished to see that almost-happy look back on the girl’s face. The blonde pursed her lips, slowly asking, “How did you even know I’d be here?”

“Oh.” Mabel chuckled nervously, grinning like a goof, but the girl gave her a blank stare in return. She tucked her thumbs into her cardigan pockets, rocking back on her heels and cursing the butterflies in her stomach. “Well, I sorta… well, it was ten A.M. when I saw you last week, so I’ve been stopping in at this time every day, and, uh… anyways! I’m so glad you like it!”

“You- whatever.” She broke off, shaking her head and looking back to the dress. “It’s beautiful,” she agreed. “Seriously, this… the fact that you did this, that was so… nice.” While the word “nice” didn’t exactly seem fitting and the girl’s words seemed strained, they didn’t seem ungenuine. More like she wasn’t used to saying them.

Based on her clothes and overall persona, it wouldn’t have surprised Mabel if this girl wasn’t used to having to thank people for things. 

Mabel opened her mouth to speak, but broke off when she locked her gaze with those blue eyes once more. Really, she had no idea how this girl captivated her so much. She was from _California_ ; practically every girl she went to school with was a rich, blonde-haired, blue-eyed Valley girl. But there was just something about the way that _this_ girl-

Her phone alarm went off in her pocket, making her jump and the other girl drop the lid of the box. 

“I- I gotta get to class,” she rushed out in lieu of an apology, quickly silencing her phone and throwing a glance back towards her table. 

“O-oh. Yeah, of course.” Was it just Mabel, or did the girl look a bit disappointed? 

It was probably just Mabel. 

They said their goodbyes, the girl thanking her once more for the dress. Mabel gathered up her things as the girl went to order her drink, and she only let herself sneak one more glance back at the girl on her way out. 

She found her smiling down at the box, clutching it tightly to her chest.

\-----

“Are you Mabel Pines?”

Mabel had been up most of the night, maybe taking slightly after her brother as she studied for the midterms that she had been ignoring in her plight to find her mystery girl. She had only managed to catch two hours of sleep before having to drag herself out of bed for a morning class, so it was understandable that she was confused that her barista was asking her a question before she had even ordered her coffee.

“Huh?” she asked, because really, huh? He was the one wearing a nametag, not her (she checked).

“Is your name Mabel?” 

Once the question registered more firmly in her mind, she beamed. Confused as she was, that was an easy one. “All day every day!”

The barista blinked. The dark circles under his eyes could have rivaled her brother’s, and that was saying something. “Riiiight,” he drawled slowly, his expression clearly screaming, ‘I’m not paid enough for this.’ After a sigh, he continued, “A girl paid for your drink already. She said you’d want a white mocha. Is that true?”

Though this increased Mabel’s confusion tenfold, she nodded. The barista didn’t wait for any more confirmation before writing her order on a cardboard cup and passing it off to the person making the drinks. When he returned his tired stare to her, she quickly hurried over to the pickup counter to wait for the beverage that she hadn’t paid for.

Oh, wowie. What was going on? None of Mabel’s friends were so cryptic, and most of them wouldn’t even be up early enough to come into Starbucks before she did. So who would have have come in and paid for her drink, but not bothered to leave their name?

It couldn’t be the dress girl… could it? 

Why would the dress girl buy her a drink? Sure, it was the same drink that Mabel had spilled on her, so maybe she was going for something ironic, but...

No, she hadn’t told the dress girl her name. If she had, she would have caught the other girl’s name as well and started referring to her as something other than “the dress girl” in her mind. 

She was halfway to her class and her mocha was a fourth of the way gone when she remembered that she had stitched her name into the tag of the dress.


	2. Chapter 2

_Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz_.

The static of Pacifica’s phone alarm cut through the silence, pulling her swiftly from a pleasant dream that was forgotten the moment she woke up. She groaned her disapproval even as she swiped her thumb across the screen to stop the vibrations. 

Sunlight already peaked through the curtains; it would be a pretty day, one of the last few of the year as October drew to a close and took with it its sunny days. 

She unlocked her phone, quickly turning the brightness down so she didn’t have to squint so hard as her eyes adjusted. She had a handful of missed calls that she pointedly ignored, opening a lengthy text from her father that was already sending a sinking feeling of dread into her stomach as she rolled over onto her back. 

**Pacifica, you didn’t call to check in tonight like you were supposed to. You know that we indulge your silly “art school” whims under the condition that you will call to check in on schedule. Don’t make us regret this. I would not be beyond pulling you out of school mid-semester.**

The message came after midnight, but it had only been nine o’clock at home. She considered replying now, despite the horrible feeling that came along with that consideration, but for once, she was grateful for the time change. It was only three in the morning in Gravity Falls, so she had a good few hours to text her father back before he woke up. 

For now, though…

Fridays were her days off. Well, days off from classes. She considered skipping her morning workout, as well, but her mother’s nagging voice was still ringing in her ears. 

_Now, Pacifica, skip one run, you skip them all! And then you’ll get out of shape, and a Northwest_ can’t _be out of shape. We have an image to uphold!_

The thought made her cringe enough to wake up fully, and the words continued to echo in her head until she finally pulled herself out of bed. 

She moved through her apartment in a sleepy trance, having done her morning routine enough for the motions to become second-nature. She cleaned up in the bathroom, eyeing her shower longingly as she pulled on her spandex shorts and tech shirt. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail, a headband in place to keep her bangs out of her eyes. She strapped her phone holder onto her bicep and slid her phone into it, plugging in headphones and turning on a workout playlist from Spotify.

The sunny day was misleading, cold air still hitting her full-blast the moment she exited her apartment building. She took a deep breath that she couldn’t hear over the roar of bubblegum pop in her ears and took off. 

She always ran the same path: two laps around campus, a total of four miles that would log instantly onto the app installed on her phone. She kept up a steady pace, narrowing dodging other pedestrians and letting herself get lost in the sensation of her Merrells hitting the pavement. 

Pacifica knew that most runners enjoyed it for the runner’s high and for the time it gave them to think. She was the opposite, using the run to tune out her thoughts and feelings. Instead, she focused on her steadily rising heartbeat, the breaths that got a bit shorter with each gust of cold air sucked in. A woman walking a dog passed her, and she forgot to return the polite smile until the woman had already looked away. 

This was her little secret: Pacifica Northwest enjoyed being able to escape reality and not have to be subject to reminders of her family and their prestige, even if just for the forty-eight minutes it took for her run. 

She’d take what she could get.

Her apartment was silent and unwelcoming when she returned, but ducking inside was still a relief from the cool chill that the outside air had left on her skin. She downed three-fourths of a bottle of water and did her leg stretches before showering. Her temporary repose from thinking was broken, her thoughts overwhelming her along with the scent of strawberry shampoo. 

She toweled off after her shower and stumbled out into her living room, cranking up the heat before wandering back to her bedroom. She stood naked in front of her closet, wet hair falling down her back and giving her chilled goosebumps as her eyes scanned over her clothing choices.

While she wanted nothing more than to just shrug on sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, her mother’s words were once again resounding throughout her head: “Pacifica, if you _dress_ like a slob, everybody will _think_ you’re a slob. And Northwests are _not_ slobs.”

With that thought in mind, she was maybe a bit more quick to pull on tight black jeans, a white crop-top, and a tan cardigan. She completed the outfit with black boots, and she enjoyed the way they clicked pleasantly on the wood floors, filling the silence. 

She made her breakfast- peanut butter and sliced bananas on whole grain toast- and ate it quickly as she tucked her laptop and several textbooks into a messenger bag. Her midterms started Monday, so she’d best make use of the day to study.

She brushed her teeth, blow-dried her hair, and put on makeup before snapping a picture of her day’s outfit for her Instagram account. Her phone was flooded with notifications before she had even made it out of her apartment. 

She forced a blasé look onto her face as she started for the campus’ coffee shop. Time to face the real world.

\-----

The Starbucks was buzzing with activity, packed full of college students rushing to cram last-minute for midterms. Pacifica scanned the shop for an empty table when she entered, being hit with a momentary distress when she didn't see one. 

Whatever. There was a long line, anyways, so maybe a table would be free by the time she got her cappuccino (made with fat-free milk, of course).

No such luck. By the time she had made it through the line, ordered, and waited for her drink to be made, the shop was even _more_ full. 

She let her eyes roam over the shop, coffee steaming in her hand as she desperately hoped that maybe she had just overlooked an empty table. This didn't appear to be the case, even when she looked over the tables for a third time, but this momentary pause was long enough for her to catch the attention of a certain brunette.

Pacifica's eyes landed on Mabel Pines approximately one second after Mabel noticed _her_ and decided to gasp, grin, and proceed to wave Pacifica over to her (half-empty) table. The blonde clutched her bag slightly closer to her side with her free hand and glanced over the shop one more time. 

While Pacifica certainly didn’t _know_ Mabel, she figured that she couldn’t be considered a _total_ stranger. After all, Mabel had made her a dress (a dress that hugged her curves so perfectly that it had to have been meant for _her_ specifically, which, Pacifica supposed, it sort of was). 

Still, sitting with an almost-stranger _might_ be the lowest that she had stooped since starting college. In Gravity Falls, if there hadn't been an empty seat and Pacifica Northwest was left standing, a dozen boys would have fallen over themselves to give up their chairs. 

But this wasn't Gravity Falls, and she was trying not to be that person anymore.

So she made her way over to the table, raising a questioning eyebrow and only setting her stuff down when the grinning brunette gestured for her to do so. Once Pacifica's hands were free, Mabel lept to her feet, offering a hand to shake. The blonde girl flinched at the sudden movement and felt her cheeks heat up as she realized that she had, casting her eyes down as she accepted the handshake. 

"Mabel Pines," the girl offered, her smile kind and her eyes reflecting it. 

The edges of Pacifica's lips twitched of their own accord as she squeezed the other girl's hand before dropping it, hand absently playing with one of the buttons on her open cardigan. "Pacifica," she replied. She didn't offer a last name, and thankfully, Mabel didn't ask for one. 

Maybe separating herself from the Northwest name wouldn't be so bad.

They took their seats across from each other, Pacifica suddenly glad that the other girl had chosen a table large enough for them both to spread their books out. She set her bag on the empty chair next to her and pulled out her laptop, being careful not to knock her coffee as she opened it. 

Mabel also had a laptop ( _not as nice as yours_ , the old Pacifica's voice sneered in her head, and she quickly tuned it out), but it was closed and set off to the side in lieu of a sketchbook that the girl quickly returned to upon sitting down. An artist, then. Pacifica tried to peer over her computer to see what she was drawing, but she couldn't tell from the angle. Instead, she turned her attention to her laptop and pulled up a Google Docs file of a research paper she was writing for Economics. 

So they were both going to study in silence, then. That was g-

"So, what are you majoring in?" Mabel asked casually, not looking up from her sketchbook. Her pencil moved confidently across the page, strokes of something that Pacifica couldn't see but was itching to. 

Her hands paused on the keyboard, cursor blinking next to a word mid-sentence as she dragged her gaze up to the brunette. "Photography," she answered, quickly following it with, "You?" 

"Fashion design." The girl still didn't look up from whatever she was working on- she was obviously a much better multitasker than Pacifica- but a smile quirked at the edge of her lips. 

So she was a designer. That... actually made sense, and Pacifica felt a bit slow for not having realized it. 

Before Pacifica could think of a casual question of her own, Mabel continued, "It's my first semester. How 'bout you?" 

"Same." She typed to the end of her sentence, but her attention was caught again when Mabel flipped to a fresh page of her sketchbook and immediately brought her pencil back down to the page. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she frowned at whatever she was drawing. It was more distracting than Pacifica would have expected it to be, and she quickly covered up her shock with a stuttered, "A-are you from the area?" The moment it left her mouth, she frowned at herself. Pacifica Northwest does not _stutter_ -

But right now, she wasn't Pacifica Northwest. She was just Pacifica.

"Oh, nah, I'm from California. Piedmont." Speaking forced Mabel to release her lip from between her teeth, and for this, Pacifica was grateful. "How about you? Are you a Pennsylvania girl?"

She shuddered. "God, no." Mabel laughed. "Oregon, actually. A small town called Gravity Falls, a few hours east of Portland." 

The sketchbook was placed on the table, pencil clattering down next to it. It was startling enough to draw Pacifica's attention, once again, away from her essay. She glanced up, frowning in confusion at the shocked expression on Mabel's face. 

"Gravity _Falls_?" she repeated, reaction indicating that she was very familiar with said location.

An unwanted bout of anxiety immediately overtook Pacifica. Nobody knew about Gravity Falls, and when they did, it was usually because of her family. So much for hiding who she was.

"Yeah, have..." She pursed her lips for just a moment, composing herself. "Have you been?"

"Oh, no," Mabel answered easily, taking a drink of her coffee. This reminded Pacifica that her cappuccino had still gone untouched, and she took a sip of it to cover up her sigh of relief. "But my great uncles- Stan and Ford- they live there. They own a- a museum-type thing, I guess? It's called the 'Mystery Hut,' or something." 

"The Mystery Shack?" Pacifica answered, brow furrowing. Images of a badly-painted totem pole and a barely-hanging-on sign flashed through her head. 

Mabel's eyes widened, going almost comically large. "Yeah!" Her work forgotten, she leaned forward on her hands, elbows resting on her sketchbook. Pacifica lowered her laptop screen just slightly. "You've been there before? What's it like? Have you met my Grunkles?" She seemed to lean forward a bit more with each question, eyes wide and curious.

Pacifica reeled back a bit at the word 'grunkles,' taking a moment before she realized that the girl was talking about her great uncles. When she remembered that Mabel was still waiting for an answer to her many questions, staring intently at Pacifica with chocolate-brown eyes, she sighed and closed her laptop fully. It wasn't as if she was getting anything done anyway. 

"Yeah, I've been," she admitted; Mabel, somehow, perked up even more at this. "I wouldn't exactly call it a museum, though." Mabel's smile dropped, a look of confusion coming over her face. Pacifica hesitated for just a moment before flatly stating, "It's sort of a tourist trap."

There was a long pause in which she thought that maybe she'd offended the girl, but then Mabel was laughing, leaning back in her chair once more with a look of delight evident on her face. "That's great!" she exclaimed, and Pacifica wasn't exactly sure _how_ , but god damn that girl had a nice smile. "That sounds so much like Grunkle Stan. Not much like Grunkle Ford, though, but I'm not sure how much he had to do with the whole idea..." She trailed off, mumbling to herself, and Pacifica shot a glance at her neglected books. So much for studying. 

She slid her laptop off to the side, bracing her arms on the table and leaning forward. "Your uncle is the type of man to try and sell people on a 'Jackelope?'" she asked, voice growing more teasing. 

This sparked another round of laughter from Mabel, drawing a few glares from the people at the surrounding tables; if Mabel noticed the dirty looks, she didn't acknowledge them. She was quick to question Pacifica about what other attractions the Mystery Shack was home to, laughing at some ("The _Sascrotch_?") and gaping at others ("How did Grunkle Stan even _get_ a petrified mermaid?" followed by Pacifica's deadpanned, "I'm relatively certain it's not _real_ , Mabel.").

Pacifica's mentions of the attractions quickly led Mabel to flipping to a clean page in her sketchbook and trying to draw them based solely on how the blonde described them. She did surprisingly well considering she had never seen nor heard of these strange hybrid creatures before, and Pacifica was quickly becoming even more impressed by her artistic abilities. Seeing the creatures sketched out on paper sent Pacifica into fits of giggles that quickly affected Mabel as well, and this prompted the brunette to pull out her phone to send a Snapchat of the drawings to 'Dipper,' who she learned was Mabel's twin brother.

This started another conversation about siblings that was most one-sided, as Pacifica was an only child. Within a few minutes, she had learned that Mabel's brother was studying cryptography at a prestigious university in California, and that Mabel missed him more than the world. 

Pacifica didn't ask, but she didn't find herself minding much when Mabel began to rant about her brother.

"And it doesn't help that he's living only with his boyfriend who is _probably_ a demon," Mabel dragged on, sounding exasperated. Pacifica's lips twitched at this. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I love Bill- I really do! He and Dip have been together since, like, high school, and they're really good for each other, but he's probably going to get Dipper killed one of these days. Plus, Dipper needs someone to make sure he actually remembers to go to sleep more than twice a week, and I'm pretty sure Bill _never_ sleeps..."

Mabel Pines talks with her hands, and Pacifica found this surprisingly enamoring. Her eyes followed the movements, locking on to chipped purple polish and a brass fox-shaped ring on her ring finger. Mabel didn't notice that Pacifica's eyes had left her face and continued to chatter aimlessly, talking more about her brother and how she couldn't wait for winter break to see him.

Pacifica wasn't sure how long this went on, with Mabel talking about a subject that she couldn't offer much input on and Pacifica nodding in all the right places. Normally, this would have been the kind of thing that would have annoyed her. In Gravity Falls, people listened to _her_ talk, not the other way around. 

But here, it was different. Mabel was different, and Pacifica realized an hour into the conversation how enraptured she had already become. 

This wasn't something she _did_ , sitting down with near-strangers and striking up conversations about their family members. Actually, she wasn't sure that this was something that _anybody_ did. 

Except, perhaps, Mabel Pines.

Eventually, Mabel broke off from her story, eyes landing on Pacifica's books. "Oh, Jeez Louise, I've been rambling, haven't I?" While a regular person might have been a bit embarrassed at this realization, Mabel just offered an apologetic grin that met her eyes just as much as the previous ones had. "I'm sorry, if you need to be working or something, go right ahe-"

"No!" Pacifica interrupted, then immediately wished she could hide her burning face as Mabel's smile turned a bit more overjoyed. "I mean. No, that's alright." She brushed her hair out of her face, straightening her back ("Northwests sit up straight," her mother's voice reminded her in her head). "It's just midterm stuff."

Mabel's grin dropped, immediately replaced by a grimace. "You too, huh?" She looked around the coffee shop, at all of the students whose eyes had been glued to their laptop screens for hours and those who had four separate notebooks spread open across their table. "Woe is the poor college student, subject to the overbearing weight of midterm exams while they should be enjoying the prime of their life," she lamented dramatically, eyes on the ceiling, and it startled a laugh out of Pacifica. 

The blonde poked at her empty coffee cup, pushing it absently back and forth. "Don't _you_ need to study?" she asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Mabel waved a hand. "Nah, I've got it under control." Her smile faded, brow furrowing. "I _do_ still need to find a model for an art project, though." 

Pacifica perked up. "A model? What's the project?" 

"Oh, nothing big. It's just an anatomy project, but all of the cheap Craigslist models in the area were already booked for this weekend by my classmates." She swirled around the now-cold coffee in her cup, looking distressed. Her hand stilled, eyes snapping up and widening. "Wait! Do you think-"

"No way." 

"You could be my model! Yeah!" Pacifica opened her mouth to protest again, but Mabel rushed out, "I swear, it's nothing big! Three poses! A few hours, tops. And I mean, I can pay you, because I'd be paying a semi-professional anyway-" 

"I'm not a model," Pacifica protested, her face warm. Honestly, she _had_ done a bit of modeling over the years, though she had later realized she preferred being on the other side of the camera. But her family was featured in a lot of magazines, _and_ they had had several elaborate, self-indulgent paintings done over the years. She had done her fair share of posing.

"You don't have to be!" Mabel assured her, already looking set on the idea. "I normally would work with models just because they tend to be more compliant, but I'm sure you'll catch on quickly!"

Pacifica was grasping at straws, trying to find a way out. It wasn't that she didn't want to do it- it was that it scared her that she _did_ want to. It was such a spontaneous request, and she hardly knew this girl! But somehow, she didn't mind the idea of sitting still for her for a few hours.

"Don't you have... I don't know, a friend who can do it?" she asked. "Why me?" 

Mabel bit her lip, and shit, Pacifica was sold. "I _do_ ," she picked up her pencil, seemingly just for something to do, and tapped it against her bottom lip, "but you have these great _curves_ , and-" She broke off, eyes widening and face flushing for the first time today. Pacifica's face surely mirrored it, words caught in her throat. "Oh god, that came out wrong. Oh god. I'm not a creep, I swear. I'm an artist. I have an appreciation for... anatomy. Y'know. Oh, Moses. Kill me." 

"Th-that's okay!" Pacifica mumbled, resisting the urge to cover her face. Mabel _did_ cover her face, dropping her face into her hands. It made her feel slightly bad, so she sighed and added, "And if you really want me to model for you... I'm free on Sunday afternoon."

Mabel's head snapped up, expression going from zero to one hundred in a heartbeat. "Really?" she asked, eyes shining. "Oh, Paz, you won't regret it!" 

"Yeah, I- Paz?" She frowned. 

Mabel's smile was teasing, eyes shining. "So, anyways, what are your opinions on sweaters?" 

And just like that, the subject was changed, impromptu nickname forgotten. 

Somehow, sweater talk changed to coffee talk, reminding both girls that they needed to refresh their drinks. Mabel was on her feet with both of their cups in her hands before Pacifica could react, claiming that she would get Pacifica's next drink, her treat. She protested- she certainly didn't need somebody else to buy her anything- but Mabel insisted. When she returned, she set down Pacifica's drink along with a pumpkin-shaped cookie that the blonde couldn't help but nibble on, even with her mother's scolding voice in her head.

They continued talking casually for another hour before Mabel had to go to class. Before she left, she wrote down the address of her apartment building along with her phone number and they agreed to meet at noon. The sticky note her information was written on was shaped like a shooting star and smelled like lilac. 

When she was gone, Pacifica finally got to work on studying. Even as she put in her earbuds and a song by The Neighbourhood filled her head, she found it difficult to focus. She was maybe a little more eager for Sunday than she should be. 

It was just modeling for a project. She was just... helping out a friend. 

How had Mabel gone from a stranger to a friend so quickly?

She didn't let herself dwell on it, instead throwing herself harder into her work. When she got another angry text message from her father, asking why she had let to respond, it didn't even bring her down.

Pacifica Northwest would have been upset. Just Pacifica was going to look on the bright side.


	3. Chapter 3

Mabel was screwed.

She had gone into the day with a very firm 'there's-no-way-this-can-backfire' attitude as she turned her apartment into a studio. She complained loudly to Dipper over speaker phone as she pushed her couch and coffee table off to the side. She laid a tarp out on the ground to negate the glare from the shiny wood floor, and set a simple stool in the middle. 

It was all going to be perfect: Pacifica would come over, Mabel would draw her in three poses for her project, and hopefully, they’d make some good conversation in the meantime. Mabel still wasn’t sure how she’d managed to actually get the blonde to sit and talk with her on Friday, but she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since.

She was ready for Pacifica to be there an hour before their scheduled time, and she found it difficult to sit still while waiting. She cranked up the heat in her apartment until it was almost uncomfortable before sitting down and sharpening (and then resharpening) all of her pencils just for something to do. 

When her buzzer went off, signaling that Pacifica was there (two minutes before their agreed-upon time of noon, Mabel noted), she practically squealed. She tried to compose herself as she buzzed her in, bouncing up and down on fuzzy sock-clad toes. 

She maybe opened the door a bit too eagerly, grin meeting her eyes and charm bracelet on her wrist jingling as she threw one arm up in what she thought was going to be a wave but ended up looking like a too-excited gesture. The blonde girl flinched at the motion, obviously startled, and Mabel deflated a bit as she stepped back to let her in. “Hey, Pacifica!” she greeted eagerly, quick to cover up her embarrassment. 

The girl returned her smile, though much more mildly and only the slightest bit forced. “Hey,” she answered, slipping out of her shoes when she spotted Mabel’s pile of discarded ones by the door. 

“You can hang up your coat there,” Mabel informed her, gesturing to the rack that currently held her not-yet-needed winter coat and a floral-print hat. 

Pacifica muttered a quick, “Oh, thanks,” before shrugging out of the olive-tone jacket and hanging it up. Under it, she wore a navy blue top tucked into a skirt splattered with random spots of blue, orange, and yellow, pulled up to her waist. Her legs were bare and she had to have been cold; it was oddly chilly out.

Mabel turned on her heel and began to walk over to her workspace, green socks sliding on the slick wood floor. “Can I get you something to drink before we start?” she called, not looking back. “Coffee, water?”

“No, I’m alright, thank you,” Pacifica answered. “Warm in here,” she mused after a beat of silence. 

Mabel laughed. “Well, yeah, you’re probably going to want it to be when you-” She trailed off, also pausing in her steps. 

Oh god. Oh, god. She _had_ told her, right? 

Oh god. She hadn’t. 

“Heeee _eeey_ , Pacifica,” she drawled, voice pitching higher as she turned back around. The other girl also paused, raising an eyebrow in response. Mabel’s thumbs hooked into the pockets of her black sweatpants as she rocked nervously back on her heels. “So, about this whole modeling thing.”

 _Please don’t make me say it,_ she thought. 

Pacifica frowned, waiting for her to continue. When she didn’t, the girl pressed, “Yeah…?”

Mabel smacked her lips. “It’s sorta, um.” She gestured towards her set-up, as though that would really give the blonde any more information. Still, Pacifica followed the movement, frown only deepening. 

But Pacifica was smart. It didn’t take long for her to realize, likely going simply off of Mabel’s sudden embarrassment, and her eyes instantly went wide, cheeks becoming even redder than they had already been from the burn of the wind. 

She visibly swallowed, and Mabel was suddenly too aware of the heat filling the two and a half feet between them. They were too close, but also not close enough and _oh god Mabel stop thinking about her like that you’re about to see her naked_.

Pacifica opened her mouth and closed it again several times before finally settling, “So, you need me to-”

“-Yeah.”

“So I’m going to have to be completely-”

“-Yep.”

“-naked,” she finished, rushing out the word like a curse.

“Nude,” Mabel corrected, as if there was really a difference. 

If it was possible, Pacifica’s face flushed even more. She pursed her lips for a few long, torturous seconds, before muttering, “I think I’ll have that coffee now.”

And that was how Mabel was brought to this very moment, sitting at her kitchen table with she and Pacifica both staring silently into their coffee cups.

Completely and utterly _screwed_.

“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” Mabel mumbled, not lifting her eyes off of her drink. She swirled the heart-printed mug around, watching as the cream moved around in her coffee. Her face felt like it was about to melt off. “I didn’t- it was my fault for not telling you. I guess I sorta just assumed you’d know, but. That was dumb of me.”

There were a few seconds of silence before Pacifica hissed out a deep breath. She took a sip of the coffee in her own mug, one that had foxes painted on it. “I’ve never done something like this before,” she started, and Mabel perked up. Maybe Pacifica wasn’t going to run for the hills, taking with her any chance of friendship for Mabel (and any chance she had at finishing her project, since she had so stupidly waited until the last minute to find a model). 

“It’s not a lot,” she assured her, looking up to meet her gaze. The moment she did, Pacifica’s eyes fluttered back down, as if she was too embarrassed to look at her directly. It was a bit endearing. “It’s three poses. One standing, one on the stool, and one on the floor.” 

There was another hissing sound as Pacifica sucked in a sharp breath, her coffee mug being set down a bit _too_ loudly before she declared, “Alright.”

The grin split Mabel’s face before she could suppress it. “You’ll do it?”

Pacifica looked like she wholeheartedly believed she was an idiot for agreeing to do so, but she gulped and nodded.

Their coffee was finished off, cups sets in Mabel’s sink and filled with water to be dealt with later. In the living room, Mabel started to tell Pacifica that she could undress in the bathroom if it would make her more comfortable, but she’d hardly started her sentence before the blonde had pulled off her top in a swift move that left Mabel’s mouth dry.

Being an artist had led her to majorly desexualize the naked body. Hours spent in her Life Drawings class sketching an overweight, elderly man was enough for the human body to just become another model and nothing else.

Still, the expanse of tan, flawless skin put on display before her was enough to make her fingertips go numb and her words die in her throat. She was mentally smacking herself instantly, her head screaming, _You're a professional! Act like it!_ So she focused on the artistic side of it, of how Pacifica's curves worked well, her muscles toned and defined. When she pivoted on one foot, putting herself fully on display for Mabel without an ounce of shame, Mabel noted the abs, the prominent clavicle and hipbones. She was an anatomy artist's daydream, and frankly, Mabel's as well.

“Where do you want me first?” she asked, unbeknownst to Mabel's internal struggle. Pacifica hooked her arms behind her head, stretching her muscles and causing her stomach to flex. For someone who had been so embarrassed at the concept of stripping down in front of a near stranger, Pacifica didn't seem too self-conscious about her body. Mabel figured that if she had the body of an absolute goddess as Pacifica seemed to, she wouldn't be, either. 

The artist forced herself to snap out of her daydreaming. This was an assignment. For school. Nothing more. 

"It doesn't really matter which of the three poses we do first. Whichever one you want to start with," she told her, moving her attention to start straightening up the table currently taking the job of being her "work space" for something to do that didn't involve overly-appreciating Pacifica's curves.

“Maybe the standing pose in between the other two?” Pacifica suggested. “That way it doesn’t feel like I’m sitting forever.”

Mabel beamed. “That’d be perfect!” She gestured semi-awkwardly towards the stool, which Pacifica turned to look at. Mabel very pointedly did _not_ look at the other girl’s ass. “Just… whenever you’re ready.”

Pacifica wasted no time in situating herself, shivering as the cold metal touched her bare skin. “How do you want me?” she asked. If she noticed a double meaning in her words that had Mabel’s head reeling, she didn’t act like it. 

The brunette ruffled through the papers on her makeshift desk to find the assignment that showed an array of sample poses that they could choose from. Mabel had gone through and starred the ones she liked the night before, bypassing the more suggestive ones and instead choosing the ones that would meet the assignment’s requirements while still allowing Pacifica to feel comfortable. 

“Turn to the side a bit,” Mabel instructed, trying to keep her tone light and not too bossy. “Like- yeah, that’s it. And if you wanna rest your feet on the bar,” Pacifica did this, “and hook your ankles. No, the other way. Yeah. Okay, and then just rest your forearms on your thighs, and put your left hand on top of your right.” She pursed her lips as the blonde complied, tilting her head. “You think you can keep your back straight?” 

“Oh, yeah. I’ve had to do this a lot for-” She broke off. Her head was turned off to the side, looking towards the wall rather than at Mabel, so it was hard to read her expression. “Nevermind.” 

Mabel frowned, but didn’t press the issue. She sat down at her desk, grabbing her sketchbook. “I’m about to start,” she warned, “so if you wanna do any last-second stretching, do it now.”

“I’m good.”

“Alrighty.” Waiting a second more just in case Pacifica changed her mind, Mabel brought her pencil down to the page. She let her eyes wander over the girl’s form, over the curve of her spine and the way her chest, mostly covered by the way her arms were resting, heaved lightly with her breaths. Whatever thoughts she’d been having the minute before, inappropriate as they were, were quickly forgotten as she fell into the artistic process. She let Pacifica become just another model. 

“So…” Pacifica paused. “Wait, am I allowed to talk during this?” For her credit, she barely moved a muscle.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Mabel assured her, only lifting her eyes off of her sketch to take in more details of Pacifica’s form. She hadn’t been lying or flattering her at the coffee shop; Pacifica really _did_ have amazing curves. “It’d be weird if you _didn’t_ talk.”

“Oh. Right. Of course.” The girl cleared her throat. The motion came with a slight movement of her head, causing her hair to shift and fall a different way down her back, and Mabel had to bite her tongue not to chastise her. “I didn’t realize there was a lot of nude modeling involved in fashion design,” she mused.

“Eh, there’s not a lot, really. I just happened to be thrown into a Life Drawings class this semester because the other art course I wanted was already full. Downside of going to an art school, and all.” Her bottom lip caught between her teeth for just a moment as she sketched, and she released it with a soft smacking noise. “How about you, Miss Photographer? Ever get anyone naked for you?” she teased.

Pacifica made an affronted, spluttering noise that had Mabel laughing despite how the action had readjusted some of her model’s muscles. “I- What kind of question is that?” she huffed. Even from several feet back, Mabel could tell that her cheeks had flushed again. 

“An artistic one,” Mabel answered, feigning innocence. 

It was hard to see her face, but Mabel assumed that Pacifica was rolling her eyes. “If you must know,” she said curtly, “I have. Once. Senior year photography project.”

“Ooh-la-la,” Mabel drawled, and Pacifica laughed. It was a nice sound that Mabel could get used to. “Do tell.”

Pacifica scoffed. “There wasn’t much ‘ooh-la-la’ about it. It was for a black and white shoot. I hardly even knew the girl I was working with.”

Mabel pressed for the story anyways as she sketched, and it turned out there _was_ more ‘ooh-la-la’ about it than Pacifica let on. The artist had to stifle her giggles as she listened to Pacifica tell the story of how _awkward_ it had been to photograph the other girl nude, and then how, due to an idiot in her class messing around with her camera and ruining the film before she was able to develop it, she’d had to do that photoshoot with the girl _all over again_. The girl told the tale with bitterness in her voice, but Mabel’s laughter set her off as well, sending her into small giggles that had Mabel asking her politely to try and keep still during. 

By the time she was finished with her story, Mabel was done with the first pose. Pacifica seemed surprised by this, as if she hadn’t realized how much time had passed. When Mabel just laughed and told her that time flew when you were having fun, Pacifica looked at her as if she had grown a second head but didn’t deny that she was, indeed, having fun. 

Before they got started on the second pose, Mabel put on some music over her overhead speakers, turning it down to a background noise level. After getting Pacifica into the standing pose, she asked what kind of music the blonde liked. While Pacifica told her without pause that she liked classical, she still seemed to get into the indie playlist that Mabel had put on. 

“Do you play any instruments?” the artist asked as she began sketching. Pacifica was facing away from her this time so that Mabel could focus on the muscles of her back and calves, so she couldn’t see her expression. 

“Piano and violin,” the girl answered. That would make sense that she liked classical music, then, though Mabel had to wonder if those instruments had been of her own choice. While they hadn’t delved that much into family information (while, information about Pacifica’s family; Mabel had already talked quite a bit about Dipper), it was obvious that the blonde came from what was likely a rich, prestigious lineage. Mabel was so busy picturing a younger version of Pacifica being forced into classical music lessons that she almost missed the other girl following her answer with, “You?”

“Nothing that I ever stuck with. I tried just about everything. When I was younger I used to think I could sing, but I realized that that wasn’t the case in high school.” She grinned at the memory. “I still love to, though. Even if I’m a tad bit tone-deaf.” Pacifica laughed. “Guess I just wasn’t blessed with that side of artistic talent. Oh! Dipper plays the sousaphone, though.”

“What’s that?” Pacifica asked. Just from the tone of her voice, Mabel figured that she was furrowing her brow and scrunching her nose. A smile played at the corner of her lips just picturing it, and once again, she had to remind herself that she was a _professional_ currently working on a _professional_ project.

As Mabel tried to describe the instrument to the girl, she let her eyes linger a bit too long on Pacifica’s backside without even realizing that she was doing it. When she finished talking and noticed where her attention had been focused at, her face colored and she mentally slapped herself. She’d never felt like such a creep to a nude model before! Even just glancing at Pacifica to add details to the sketch made her feel like she was invading the girl’s privacy. 

They continued to talk about music even into the third pose, with Pacifica sitting on the floor. They swapped stories about favorite bands and concerts (Mabel had never been to one other than for the bands that played at her high school proms, but Pacifica had seen an array of musicians live). When a song by The 1975 came on shuffle, Mabel noticed the blonde girl humming to it. She grinned but didn’t point it out for fear that Pacifica would get embarrassed and stop. 

Nearly two hours had passed by the time Mabel finished the last sketch, and it showed by the way Pacifica stretched when she was told that she could move. She rolled her neck and cracked her knuckles, and she seemed content to sit on the floor for a full extra minute before she realized that meant she could redress. 

When she showed Pacifica the final product of the drawings, she didn’t miss the girl’s sharp intake of breath. She didn’t blame her; Pacifica was gorgeous, and it showed in the drawings. Mabel had done a pretty good job, if she did say so herself. Paz also told her so, though it was mumbled and accompanied by embarrassed, averted eyes. 

Mabel wanted to ask her to stay, to watch a movie and stay for dinner and maybe actually just stay forever until Mabel had learned all there was to learn about her, but Pacifica looked at her phone and mumbled that she needed to study for midterms before she got the opportunity to bring it up. The brunette was disappointed, but she didn’t let it show. 

Or maybe she did, because Pacifica offered her a sad smile. “Sorry,” she told her, and she actually sounded like she meant it. “I, uh… I had fun, Mabel. A lot more than I thought I would.”

That was slightly less than a compliment, but it was more than enough for Mabel; her grin was wide and bright. “I’m so glad!” she gushed earnestly, her hands wringing nervously over themselves as she fought the urge to rush out and hug the girl. Pacifica shifted awkwardly, eyes flitting towards the door, and Mabel realized something. “Oh, I still have to pay you!” They hadn’t negotiated a price beforehand, which they probably should have, and this was always the awkward part. “So I would have been paying a professional model, of course, so I can pay you about-”

“That won’t be necessary,” the blonde cut her off. Mabel frowned. 

“I have to pay you,” she reiterated. “You modeled for me for two hours. _Naked_.” Though Mabel was a broke college student who was only able to attend such an expensive university because of her scholarship, she had integrity. 

Pacifica bristled at this reminder, but seemed to brush it off, shaking her head and sending her hair flying over her shoulder. “Money isn’t really an issue for me.”

Mabel pursed her lips, worrying. It was obvious that Pacifica didn’t need the money, but Mabel couldn’t not give her anything in return. “Well, okay, but…” She thought for a minute before a smile split her face once more. “Oh, I know!” Pacifica raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take you out!”

Paz opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. After a moment, she repeated, “‘Take me out?’”

“Yeah, like-” _Like a date_ died on her tongue. Too soon. “There’s, uh. There’s this new art museum opening downtown, and opening day is next Saturday.”

Pacifica seemed to perk up a tad bit, nodding. “Yeah, I heard about that. Down on 14th, right?”

“Yeah!” Mabel’s heart swelled and felt ready to burst out of her chest. This was perfect! “Do you wanna- do you wanna go with me?” _Please say yes, please say yes._ “We can go around noon and catch a late lunch afterwards?”

There was a tense moment in which Mabel was suddenly sure the blonde was going to say no, but then a smile spread across her face. It was beautiful. “Sure,” she answered. “I’d love to.”

“Great!” Mabel was sure her smile was just as wide as it usually was, but on the inside, her heart was beating a mile-a-minute and her brain was whirring in excitement. 

They agreed to text and talk about details later on in the week after midterms were over, and Mabel saw Pacifica out. Once again, she had to restrain herself from hugging the girl. 

Not yet. But maybe soon.

\-----

“I’m so gay.”

“You’re pansexual,” Dipper corrected matter-of-factly.

“I’m so gay,” she repeated, flopping face-first down onto her comforter. Her laptop bounced a bit on the bed. 

Dipper laughed. “Is _she_ , though?”

Mabel lifted her chin and glared at her brother’s image on the screen, as if blaming him for making this question a very real one. “Who knows?” she cried, bringing one hand up to tug her hair down over her face. “She’s like, every Valley Girl stereotype in one.” 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Dipper defended. He was right, but it didn’t make her feel any better. 

“What’s going on?” another voice asked from Dipper’s end of the call. Mabel blew her hair out of her face, lifting her head to watch as Bill flopped down across Dipper’s lap on the couch, the image a bit blurry. Dipper’s webcam was horrible. 

“Mabel’s having a crisis,” Dipper told his boyfriend. One of his hands landed in Bill’s hair, playing absently with the blonde locks. Mabel wanted to snap at them to stop being cute when all she wanted was to be cute with one specific person. 

“A _girl_ crisis,” she corrected. “How do you court someone who already has everything?”

“Viscera and sacrificial altars?” 

“Okay, definitely wasn’t asking _you_ , Bill.”

“Whatever, Shooting Star. I got your brother, didn’t I?”

“Somehow,” Dipper muttered, rolling his eyes. 

“ _Dipper_ ,” she whined, “What do I _do_?”

“Well, first of all-” Bill tried to say something and cut him off, so Dipper covered his boyfriend’s mouth with a hand, “-maybe think about how morally ambiguous it was that you let your crush model naked for you.”

“It was, admittedly, in a gray area,” she mumbled, casting her eyes downwards. 

“Yeah. So how is she going to feel if she knows you have a crush on her and still let her do that?”

Mabel paused, thinking it over. When she realized it, she groaned. “Oh, god, she’s gonna think I’m a total perv!”

“You kinda are,” Bill chimed in when Dipper uncovered his mouth. She glared. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. I find it hilarious!”

“You’re no help.” She sat up, tucking her knees underneath her and wringing her hands. 

“You’ll figure something out, Mabes,” Dipper reassured her, offering a kind smile. “Just wait and see how next weekend plays out.”

“And if it _doesn’t_ work out,” Bill added, “I hear that black magick is an effective way of making someone fall in love with you.”

Mabel laughed. She hung up the call just as Dipper asked Bill, “Wait, what?”

That night, she fell asleep thinking about the way that Pacifica had hummed that song. 

Yeah, she was screwed.


	4. Chapter 4

Never before in Pacifica Northwest’s life had she not been able to find something to wear. 

She owned plenty of clothes; in fact, some might say that she owned _too many_ clothes. Even while she was on the east coast and staying temporarily in an apartment, she had a good fraction of her closet with her. 

She had grown up thrust into a world where what you wore signified _who you were_. As a result, she’d never been able to make a mistake as to what to wear. Maybe that was why she had so much anxiety ingrained in her at the simple thought of picking out an outfit for her date with Mabel.

Her hand paused on the jacket she’d been reaching for. _Date_? No. No, this wasn’t a date. This was just… two friends going to a museum and to lunch. That was all. 

Telling herself that it wasn’t a date didn’t make it any easier to pick out an outfit. 

One part of her- the part that still had her mother’s voice in her head, criticizing every decision she made- reminded her that Mabel was a _fashion student_. If Pacifica’s outfit was horrible, she’d notice immediately. 

The more rational part told her that Mabel wouldn’t _care_. She had been wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt with a cat’s face on it when Pacifica had gone over to… model. For someone with such an avid interest in fashion, she didn’t seem to care too much about how others saw her. 

Pacifica knew that that might be an attitude that she, too, should try to adopt, but she continued to struggle to. 

She ended up pulling on a black leather skirt over tights of the same color (now that it was November, there was no excuse to go bare-legged), throwing on a white tank top that was promptly covered by a leather jacket. In the mirror, it looked like too much black, so she wound a cream-colored scarf around her neck as well. Her hair refused to cooperate, tangling in itself when she attempted to brush it, so she pulled it up into a messy bun. 

Despite the time spent worrying about what she was going to wear, Pacifica was ready to go much earlier than she needed to be. Mabel had had a meeting with her study group at the library downtown this morning, so she planned to just meet Pacifica at the museum at noon. It was only about a twenty minute drive from Pacifica’s apartment to the place they were meeting, so despite being ready by ten-thirty, she had quite a while before she needed to leave. 

She passed the time by cleaning, straightening her furniture and sorting her laundry. She wished she had thought this through better- she couldn’t clean the bathroom or the kitchen appliances now that she was dressed, so she was left to complete the more basic tasks. She had just opened her living room curtains when her phone went off. 

She practically dove for the couch to get it, a bit too eager with the hope that maybe it was her newfound friend contacting her. While her bad luck might have had the majority of her phone notifications be from her father more often than not, luck seemed to be on her side today. She was quick to swipe open the Snapchat from Mabel. 

All it was was a picture of a flock of pigeons eating bread crumbs off the sidewalk, captioned only with a bird emoji. It was so simple and sort of adorable that Mabel had seen pigeons and sent her a Snap just so she, too, could see pigeons, and it had Pacifica smiling long after the picture disappeared. 

She didn’t have any birds to photograph (and god, she wouldn’t want to), so she took a quick picture of the potted succulent sitting on her windowsill, captioning it with a cactus emoji. Mabel opened it within seconds but didn’t respond. Pacifica didn’t let herself be disappointed; she’d be seeing the other girl in just over an hour. 

She sat down and did some homework to keep herself busy, fighting the urge to reach for her phone and shoot Mabel a text. They’d been texting practically non-stop for two days now, starting with a basic conversation about when and where they’d be meeting Saturday that quickly developed into a casual conversation about their days, their full weekend plans, and their lives in general. 

As she steadily grew closer and closer with Mabel, she started to realize just how dependent she was becoming on the girl for company. She’d never had a friend like this before. 

Maybe she’d never had a friend before.

\-----

“There’s _no way_ that Salvador Dali had ten cats.”

“I swear on my favorite sweater, Paz. He absolutely did. Haven’t you seen _Atomicus_?” 

Pacifica rolled her eyes, stepping to the side to narrowly avoid bumping into some little kids who _definitely_ shouldn’t have been running in an art museum. This also meant stepping away from _Mabel_ , though, which she quickly corrected by falling back into step next to the girl once more. “Yeah, but there were, like, _three_ cats in that, not ten.”

“If you’re already gonna have three, why stop there?”

She sounded so serious that it startled a laugh out of the blonde, amused by the other girl’s seemingly solid logic. “If you say so, Mabes.”

Mabel didn’t say anything, but when Pacifica looked over, she was grinning. She raised an eyebrow, and Mabel’s grin only grew. “What?” she asked, shifting uncomfortably. In her discomfort, she forced her eyes away and to the painting that they had stopped in front of. They were approaching the end of their self-guided tour. 

“You called me ‘Mabes.’”

“Did I?” Her face flushed. She kept her eyes glued on the painting; it was something abstract and by a foreign artist that she’d never heard of. 

Mabel bumped her shoulder against Pacifica’s, accompanying the movement with a soft laugh that rang out like bells even above the dull roar of the weekend crowd. “Yeah.” She didn’t pull away, standing so close that there was only a fraction of space separating Pacifica’s leather-clad arm from Mabel’s wool-clad one (she was wearing a sweater that had to have been made of real alpaca wool, though Pacifica didn’t ask).

With anybody else, the closeness would have been tense and uncomfortable. With Mabel, it felt right. 

\-----

Lunch was eaten at a small cafe directly across the street from the art museum. As much fun as they’d had on the hour-long tour, it was nice to escape the crowd that came from it being the museum’s opening day. Both girls had recognized quite a few classmates from the university, which made sense. Art students tended to flock to artistic locations. 

They ordered at the counter, and while Pacifica reached in her bag for her wallet, Mabel jumped in front of her and paid for both of their meals before the blonde had the chance to object. 

“This is me paying you back for the modeling,” Mabel reminded her as they moved off to the side to wait for their food, Pacifica’s expression souring. She absolutely did not need somebody else to pay for her for _anything_.

“It really wasn’t any problem,” she mumbled, even as her face grew warm at the memory of Mabel’s chocolate eyes scanning her bare body, noting every detail. Every flaw. 

“I can’t just let someone do something for me without giving them something in return!” Mabel defended, sounding serious. After a moment, her expression went blank as she frowned. “Huh. I’ve been talking to Bill too much.” At Pacifica’s questioning stare, she explained, “He’s all about deals and compensation and stuff.”

“He’s compensating for something?” Pacifica joked without missing a beat. With someone who didn’t enjoy dumb jokes as much as Mabel did, it would have flopped; Mabel, however, doubled over in laughter. 

“Heh, that’s great. I’ll have to tell that one to Dipper.”

“Oh, yeah. Just make your brother dislike me before I’ve even met him.” Pacifica regretted the words the moment they left her mouth, as they implied that she _would_ meet Mabel’s brother someday. They implied that this friendship would continue past the school year. 

If Mabel noticed her internal crisis, she didn’t let on to it. Instead, she just beamed. “Nah, he’d love you.” After a moment, she continued quietly under her breath, “... Probably.” She looked back up to Pacifica. “How do you feel about mysteries and conspiracies?” 

_My entire family name is surrounded by them,_ she thought. She forced a smile. “I feel like your brother would do good in Gravity Falls.” 

Their buzzer went off, signalling that their food was ready to be picked up at the counter. “That’s what Grunkle Ford always says!” Mabel exclaimed, waving the hand holding the buzzer as they approached the counter and grabbed their plates. She tossed the buzzer into the basket, and Pacifica cringed at the noise as it continued to vibrate even after they walked away.

“Do you think you guys will ever make it up there?” Pacifica asked as they looked for a table, attempting to sound casual. She _definitely_ didn’t want it to sound like an invitation; as much as her heart sped up at the thought of seeing Mabel outside of school, she dreaded the thought of the girl finding out that she was a Northwest and letting that change her opinion of Pacifica.

“Oh, I’m sure.” They sat their plates down on a table and took their seats; Pacifica had a Bistro salad while Mabel had gotten something that looked like a Cuban sandwich. “We always planned to go out there in the summer as kids, but we never did. Stan and Ford always just came down to Piedmont instead. That’s how Dipper met Bill, actually.”

“He’s from Gravity Falls?” Pacifica wondered if she’d ever met him. She’d met most of the people of Gravity Falls, though very few of them were memorable enough to stick in her mind. 

Mabel was taking a bite of her sandwich, so she nodded. After taking a swig of her lemonade to clear her throat, she answered, “Yeah, I guess he used to work with Grunkle Ford, or something. Anyways, he came down to Piedmont with them when we were… fifteen, I think? And he and Dipper just hit it off and continued to talk for a couple of years until Bill eventually moved down to California to be with him our senior year. I’m still convinced there was some sort of dark magic involved.”

Pacifica filed that information away for later, making a note to look up this mysterious guy. Before she could continue the conversation, Mabel switched over to talking about Thanksgiving plans. 

Pacifica learned that Mabel wasn’t planning on going home for the short holiday, and when the brunette asked her if she was, she was momentarily stumped. She honestly hadn’t put much thought into it; if she wanted to go home, it would be easy enough to get her family’s private jet to come pick her up. She supposed it was different for most people, who’d have to plan out weeks in advance if they wanted to spend the money on airfare or not. 

But that would mean she’d have to see her parents, even if just for a few days, and if that was avoidable, then… 

“No, I’m staying here,” she decided. 

Mabel’s face lit up. “We should have Thanksgiving together!” she exclaimed excitedly, food forgotten. Pacifica hadn’t touched her salad yet further than pushing the craisins around with her fork, but the utensil clattered down against the glass as she startled at the exclamation. 

“I- I don’t know…” she mumbled, though she couldn’t really see any problem with it. She’d just been thinking about how she’d love to spend more time with Mabel, so what better chance than over a holiday meal? 

She’d never spent Thanksgiving with anyone other than her parents, so it had never been a pleasant experience. But maybe this was her chance to make better memories. 

“I can’t cook very well,” she told Mabel honestly, lips twitching at how her hesitance hadn’t even quelled any of the girl’s excitement. 

Mabel seemed to take that as a ‘yes,’ as her lips split into a grin. “That’s alright, I can! I always make Thanksgiving dinner at home! Well, me and my dad. Dipper and my mom can’t cook, either.” 

“Well, if you’re going to cook…” Pacifica fumbled for something to say, suddenly reminded of the importance that Mabel put on making things even. “We can do it at my place, if you want? I’ll host and buy the food, and you prepare it.”

Mabel was nodding eagerly before she even finished her sentence. “Yeah, that’d be great! Besides, my apartment becomes, like, a million degrees when I run the oven, so this works better, anyways. I’ll just send you a list of the stuff I need from the store.”

Thanksgiving was still almost three weeks away, but she could already see the wheels turning in Mabel’s head as she counted on her fingers and silently mouthed ingredients to herself. Pacifica smiled and shoved a forkful of lettuce into her mouth to cover it up. 

Her water was too plain, so she stole a sip of Mabel’s lemonade when she thought the other girl wasn’t looking, feigning innocence when she got caught. The simple action had both girls erupting into giggles. 

They spent the rest of lunch talking about how their midterms had gone. Pacifica learned that Mabel was confident in all of her classes except for Calculus, which happened to be Pacifica’s specialty. She offhandedly mentioned that she wouldn’t mind tutoring Mabel if she ever needed the help, and Mabel looked at her as if she was gazing upon a goddess.

They continued to talk until long after they’d finished eating, and decided to leave only when the later lunch crowd came in and they knew that somebody else would probably need their table. Once outside, Pacifica gestured vaguely across the street with the hand holding her keys, mumbling, “I’m parked in the museum parking lot. Where are you?”

Mabel adjusted her purse, smiling and jerking a thumb over her shoulder. “Oh, I just took the bus.” 

Pacifica frowned, shuddering at the idea of public transportation. “Gross.” Mabel’s smile wavered, and Pacifica immediately corrected herself with, “Sorry, I just meant that- y’know- your apartment is probably half an hour of a _drive_ from here. Isn’t that, like, an hour on the bus?”

Mabel shrugged. “Give or take.”

Pacifica shook her head, mind already settled. “Alright, I’m going to drive you home. Nobody should have to subject themselves to that.”

The brunette frowned, but followed Pacifica when she crossed the street at the crosswalk, hurrying to make it before the timer ran out. “Paz, it’s fine, really-”

“Come on, that’s what friends are for, right?” she interrupted, shooting a smile over her shoulder at the flustered girl struggling to keep up with her long strides. 

Mabel stumbled on the step back up to the curb, faltering to a stop and staring at Pacifica with wide eyes. The blonde paused, hoping she hadn’t said the wrong thing. After a moment, Mabel smiled. It wasn’t a wide, joking grin like Pacifica was used to seeing on her face, but it was just as genuine. 

“Yeah,” she answered. “It is.”

Mabel gaped at the sight of Pacifica’s black Jetta, but she tried to ignore it as she slid into the driver’s seat and started up the engine, delighting in the low purr it gave off. Once Mabel was in and had her seatbelt on, she wouldn’t stop running her hands over the leather seats, the vinyl of the dashboard, and just about any available surface, making soft cooing noises as she did so. It was very distracting. 

Pacifica pointed out her apartment when they drove by, and Mabel pressed her forehead to the window to look out, giving a low whistle and a whispered, “Holy moly.” Pacifica’s face flushed. 

When she pulled up to the door of Mabel’s apartment complex and put the car in park, there was a tense moment in which they just looked at each other. Then, Mabel leaned over and pecked her on the cheek, just once, her eyes twinkling. She murmured, “Thanks for going with me today, Pacifica,” and her grin turned wicked when she saw the blonde’s red face. She slid out of the car and closed the door before Pacifica could react. 

She turned up the music on her drive home, but she could hardly hear it over the pounding of her own heart in her ears. 

\-----

She called her father just after nine that night, their normal time. He answered after three rings, and there was a pause in which she imagined him taking a sip of brandy before he calmly greeted, “Pacifica,” without much feeling. 

She drew in a bit on herself, trying not to flinch merely at the sound of his voice. “Father,” she answered. She curled her toes, eyes focusing on the lavender polish. 

“How are you doing?” he asked, voice lacking emotion. It was a mere formality; he wasn’t really interested. 

“I’m doing… good,” she answered honestly. She was. She was doing great. “And yourself?”

“Just fine.” There was the sound of ice clinking in a glass. “Am I going to be pleased with the results of your midterm exams?”

She wanted to answer honestly with an, _I hope so_ , but she was sure that that wouldn’t be good enough. “Yes, Father,” she said instead. She swung her feet up onto the couch, tucking her knees against her chest. “I think I did especially well in my business courses.”

“I should hope so.” _You’re a Northwest, after all,_ wasn’t stated, but it hung in the crackling static of silence anyways. “Is there anything else going on?”

It was always like this: flat, forced conversation. He cared about her grades and the image she put off for the Northwest family, and that was about the extent of it. Past that, he was just asking to give off the facade of caring. 

Usually when he asked this, she gave a brief, “Not much,” and the conversation was over. This time, she thought for a moment before hesitantly stating, “I… I made a friend.”

Pacifica expected some sort of praise or, at the very least, a bit of interest. How long had it been since she’d made a friend who hadn’t been paid to say they were or who’d only been hanging around to attach themselves to the Northwest name? She wasn’t sure if there ever had been one. 

Instead, she was met with a scoff. “Northwests don’t have time for _friends_ , Pacifica,” Preston spat, not bothering to hide his disgust with the concept. “Let this be a life lesson to you: if they’re not for a business venture, they’re not worth being around.”

She was used to comments like this. She’d endured comments like this her entire life. But it didn’t stop the spark of pain that went through her, the way her throat and eyes started to burn until she felt like she couldn’t breathe as she attempted to choke back tears. “Y-yes, Father,” she answered quietly, because there wasn’t much more she _could_ say. 

“Don’t stutter, Pacifica. It’s unbecoming.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is there anything else?”

“No… No, sir. That’s all.” 

“Then I’ll talk to you in a few days. Have a good night.”

“Yes, you too.” That was as much of a goodbye as she’d get from him, so she swiftly hung up. 

A choked noise escaped her throat the moment she brought her phone down and dropped it onto the couch, her breath catching in her throat. For a moment, she allowed herself to sob without really crying, just pulling a throw pillow against her face and heaving her breaths into it. 

A moment later, her phone buzzed, indicating a text message, and the noises were cut off. She worked to steady her breathing, blinking away the few tears that had formed in her eyes so she could read the text. 

FROM: Mabel Pines  
 **Do you have class Tues morning? If not, girls’ day out?**

The message was so simple, so kind. Mabel had no idea what she was doing to Pacifica right now. 

Her chest burned, throat on fire and head spinning. But she read over the text again, and she smiled. 

TO: Mabel Pines  
 **Absolutely.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for a delay in updates. The past few weeks have been super busy with school, and there were a handful of other things I got stuck on writing before my mind would even let me attempt to focus on this. 
> 
> I'm hoping that updates will be consistent from now on, but no promises. Still, keep checking back for some more unrelated pieces coming up from me in the next few weeks!

Winter swallowed up autumn quickly, bringing with it flurries of snow and uncomfortably cold temperatures. As November drew to a close and December rushed by, Mabel found herself spending more and more time inside her apartment. 

Or Pacifica’s apartment, oddly enough. 

They’d spent Thanksgiving together at Pacifica’s place (which ended up being much more like a townhouse than the apartment complex Mabel had originally been expecting), sparking Mabel’s desire to spend more and more time there. While her own apartment was homely and inviting, Pacifica’s revealed more about her than Mabel would have gotten through conversation. 

She had more of an eye for interior design than Mabel would have expected, though she supposed that growing up rich would do that to a person. Her apartment was lavishly decorated, expensive throw rugs and furniture that Mabel never would have been able to afford. 

Her kitchen was full of bowls of fruit and glass containers of protein powder, all of her dishes matching. It was a stark contrast to Mabel’s own brightly-colored kitchenette, fridge and cabinets stocked with an even balance of junk food and what Dipper would call “real food.” 

Pacifica also had a trophy case full of awards and ribbons declaring her success in many fields- academics, music, archery, horseback riding, and a handful of things that Mabel had never even heard of. Her eyes had been drawn to the cabinet immediately, and Pacifica had flushed and stuttered out that her parents had made her bring them with her. 

“It’s really no big deal,” she’d muttered when Mabel had turned an awed gaze on her. She had cast her eyes downwards and caught her bottom lip between her teeth. 

Mabel had never wanted to kiss her more. 

Being in Pacifica’s apartment had also given her her first real taste of Pacifica’s photography. Sure, she’d seen some of her digital work as she did editing on her laptop, but the prints hanging up on her walls were surely from film. She resisted the urge to run her fingertips over the shots of city lights that were surely from their current location and the black-and-white shot of a water tower that had to be located in Gravity Falls, and instead gave in to the urge to ask Pacifica as many questions as possible. 

She learned that Pacifica rented out some space downtown for an art studio, and that it had a small dark room in it for developing film. She’d talked about it like it was the most casual thing ever but with the same hint of a passionate spark that Mabel usually had while talking about design, and Mabel remained buzzing with awe. She made Pacifica promise to show Mabel her studio someday. 

Thanksgiving had gone well; Pacifica had practically moaned over Mabel’s cooking and ate a lot more than Mabel had ever seen her eat or expected to ever see her eat again. She’d even eaten a piece of pumpkin pie, though she had a guilty look on her face about it that had Mabel’s heart aching. 

They’d gone shopping the next day, Pacifica’s inner shopaholic coming out for Black Friday deals. She’d tried on clothes and picked out a handful of things for Mabel to try on as well, both of them complimenting each other on the good and erupting into giggles at the horrible. 

In the end, Pacifica had purchased all of the clothes for both of them without batting an eye, despite Mabel’s protests and her blanching at the price. 

They spent at least two nights a week with each other, studying or watching movies at one of their apartments. Mabel laughed at how far they’d come so quickly- was Pacifica really the same girl who had snapped at her after she’d spilled coffee on her expensive dress? 

On nights that they didn’t hang out, they usually talked through text. Pacifica was a much-needed distraction from the stress of school. More than once, Dipper had caught her smiling at a text from the girl while they were on Skype and would tease her profusely. She’d gotten past the point of blushing; she was head-over-heels for this girl, and she knew it. 

But Pacifica was also her best friend, and she couldn’t ruin that. Especially after realizing that Pacifica didn’t have any other friends. 

The end of the year brought with it finals week, swallowing up most of Mabel’s free time and preventing her from seeing her friend for a while. They still texted at night, though both of them were too tired from testing and studying to stay up for long. 

Dipper teased that she was in a much worse mood than usual. Bill said that she probably needed to get laid, adding that, “Pine Tree is always in a bad mood when _we_ haven’t--” and forcing Mabel to end the call before she could be scarred by the end of the sentence. 

When finals were over, a huge weight was lifted from her shoulders. It was only two days until she would get to go home and see her twin and her parents for the first time the entire semester. 

Pacifica planned to fly out the night before her, on Saturday, which is exactly why Mabel found herself jogging to the other girl’s apartment early Saturday morning with two cups of hot chocolate in hand. She was glad that the coffee shop was by Pacifica’s apartment, as the drinks were still hot enough to warm her hands as she stood outside the door, bouncing on her toes and watching her breath in the air as she waited for Pacifica to answer the door. 

A full minute passed and Pacifica didn’t come to the door, neither did Mabel hear any movement within the apartment. It was after nine, and Mabel knew that Pacifica usually woke up super early to run and would surely have been up. 

She shivered, gripping the cups tighter and squeezing her eyes shut when a cold breeze rushed by. Her scarf wasn’t big enough to cover and warm her face. 

“Uh… Mabel?”

The brunette jumped at the voice, whirling around and nearly stumbling down the few stone steps in the process. Pacifica stood on the sidewalk in her full running gear, hair in a ponytail and pushed back by a headband. Mabel’s immediate reaction was to frown; her tight clothing certainly didn’t look warm enough for the harsh winter temperatures, especially not when there was still snow dusting the ground from the flurries the night before. 

“Um… surprise?” she joked, waving the hot chocolate that was marked with “nonfat milk” on the side. 

The blonde’s expression softened immediately, and she hurried up the steps past Mabel. She pulled her key from the armband holding her phone, turning it quickly in the lock and pushing the door open. The heat from inside rushed out immediately, and Mabel was quick to go to it, breathing a sigh of relief once the door was closed behind her and the cold was trapped outside. 

Pacifica walked further into the apartment, not bothering to tell Mabel to make herself at home; Mabel was already at home enough here that she dropped her bag onto the couch, setting the drinks down on the table in between the kitchen and living room and draping her coat and scarf over the back of a chair. The blonde dropped her things onto the table as well, pulling off the headband and freeing her hair from its ponytail. Her hairline still seemed to be beaded with sweat despite the cold temperature, and her face was blushed from both the wind and the run. 

“Sorry,” she murmured as she put a foot up onto a chair to start untying her shoes. “I wasn’t expecting you so early, or else I would have been here.”

Mabel’s heart swelled at the implication that Pacifica _had_ been expecting her at some point, despite them not ever making definite plans. It went unstated now that they would spend time together when they could, especially when they were about to spend three weeks apart. 

“No, no, it’s my fault,” Mabel assured her. “I thought you would have been back from your run a lot earlier.” 

Once her shoes were off and set in a neat pile with the rest of her discarded items, Pacifica began her post-run stretches. “I usually would be, but I did twelve miles today instead of four. Since I’m seeing my mom tonight, and all.” 

Pacifica sounded much less thrilled at the concept of seeing her family than Mabel was about seeing hers. 

The artist’s smile faded, worry settling in. “ _Twelve_?” she repeated. “Don’t you think that’s a little… excessive?” Sure, professional runners and marathoners did a lot more than that, but Pacifica was neither. She ran for fitness, and if she usually only did four, then doing three times that many without building up to it could be detrimental to her health. 

_You sound like Dipper_ , she told herself. She frowned even more at the idea. 

Pacifica avoided her gaze as she stood back up. “It’s fine,” she muttered. “I need to shower. Do you mind?” 

She had more she wanted to say on the subject, but the words died on her lips. She pretended not to be hurt by how the girl just brushed off her worry in an abrasive manner that Mabel hadn’t seen from her in a while. 

“No, that’s fine,” she answered softly, forcing a smile. 

“Great.” Pacifica stole a sip of her hot chocolate, offering Mabel a smile that was hard to read. On her way to the bathroom, she called over her shoulder, “Help yourself to anything in the kitchen, if you want.” 

Mabel nodded even though the other girl couldn’t see her. “Will do.” 

She didn’t, instead curling up on the couch with a throw blanket on her lap as she felt her appetite disappear. Instead, her stomach clenched uncomfortably with concern. 

She didn’t know much about Pacifica’s parents, but what she did know wasn’t good. 

There was a reason that Pacifica was the way she was, Mabel often told herself. The distance and the occasional bit of iciness was not her own doing, and Mabel wouldn’t let anybody tell her otherwise. Pacifica acted a certain way on the surface because she’d been molded to act that way. 

Mabel often saw the Pacifica underneath, the Pacifica that had a warm laugh and a love for black-and-white horror movies. The Pacifica that kept cactuses and who hummed songs from indie bands when she thought that Mabel couldn’t hear. 

Mabel’s eyes wandered to the trophy case, a visible representation of Pacifica’s accomplishments. What good were they really, though? Pacifica herself was so much more than what they said about her. 

She wondered if Pacifica’s parents would agree. 

The girl returned from her shower quicker than expected, and seemed surprised to see Mabel curled into a ball rather than eating. 

“I’m gonna make breakfast,” Pacifica called as she walked into the kitchen, her voice echoing through the quiet apartment. Mabel wished the TV remote was within her reach, simply for some background noise. “You want anything?”

“I’m good,” Mabel answered, chipping at her neon green nail polish and still feeling a bit dejected. 

There was a pause, and then, “... So, pancakes, right?” 

Mabel’s pout until held for a moment before it broke into a grin. “Yeah, sounds great.”

\-----

“What are your plans over break?” Pacifica asked after breakfast was made, poking at her eggs with her fork. Her feet were laying across Mabel’s lap on the couch, and with her words, she crossed one sock-covered foot over the other. 

“Annoy Dipper,” Mabel answered through a mouthful of pancakes. Pacifica shot her a faux-annoyed look. Mabel grinned. “Annoy _Bill_. Oh! And sleep. A _lot_.” 

“You already do that,” Pacifica muttered, rolling her eyes. She took a bite of her eggs, face relaxing a bit. Mabel found it difficult to believe that Pacifica had been against eating on the couch before Mabel had started to come around and convinced her of how much more comfortable it was. 

“But this time I’ll be doing it in an actual _good_ bed, and not the crappy mattress I have in my apartment.” She took a sip of milk before setting the glass back down on the coffee table, hot chocolate long finished off. “It’s so _springy_ ,” she whined, fake-pouting and giving Pacifica her best woe-is-me look.

It garnered no sympathy from the blonde, instead earning her another eye roll. “You’re such a baby,” she muttered under her breath, but her teasing tone was clear. 

“ _What_ was that?” Mabel gasped in mock offense, free hand flying up to flutter over her heart. 

“Nothing!” Pacifica answered quickly, giving Mabel her best innocent smile. Mabel’s joking glare only lasted for a second before both girls broke into giggles. 

“Alright, _Princess_ ,” Mabel mocked when she could speak seriously again, “not all of us can have beds made of, I dunno, pegasus feathers, or whatever, and sheets probably spun from magical silk spiders.”

Pacifica was quick to cooly snap, “Jeez, sleep in _my_ bed, then.”

There was a clear euphemism in the words, one that Pacifica likely hadn’t meant, as her cheeks flushed immediately. Still, Mabel was quick on the uptake, giving a toothy grin and teasing, “Wow, Paz, if you wanted me in your bed all you had to do was ask.” 

The blonde spluttered out an embarrassed response, casting her gaze away. Mabel erupted into giggles again, and her laughter was contagious, dragging Pacifica down with her. The suggestive conversation was forgotten as easily as it had begun. 

Mabel did the dishes after breakfast since Pacifica had cooked, leaving Paz to pick out a movie for them to watch. When the photographer had asked what Mabel wanted to do for the day, she’d made a face at Mabel’s eager suggestion of, “Lazy day on the couch!” but hadn’t protested. 

Mabel finished washing and drying the dishes and went to put them back in their respective cupboards, smiling at how well she knew Pacifica’s kitchen. They were far too domestic.

Pacifica held up a hand to stop her when she started to walk into the living room, and she did so dutifully, rocking back on her heels and giving the blonde a questioning look. Pacifica grinned at the TV rather than her, asking, “Singing or no singing?”

Mabel huffed. “That should be an obvious answer.”

Pacifica laughed. “Alright, you can come in now.” 

Mabel did so eagerly, flopping next to Pacifica on the couch and turning her gaze on the flatscreen on the wall. The Disney opening screen was playing, and Mabel snuggled slightly closer to the other girl without fully touching her. They were certainly much closer than they needed to be on such a long couch, but Pacifica didn’t protest when Mabel threw one leg over her lap and pulled the throw blanket over the top of them. 

Mabel grinned when the copyright segments were over and the opening scene revealed the movie to be _The Little Mermaid_. “Oh, Paz,” she said dramatically, looking over the girl who was expectantly watching for her reaction to the movie choice, “you’re a woman after my own heart.” 

Pacifica flushed at the comment, but Mabel was already turning her attention back to the screen.

\-----

The day was consumed by Disney movies and a seating position on the couch that gradually got closer until Mabel had sleepily rested her head on Pacifica’s shoulder and one of Pacifica’s arms had gently wrapped around her. 

It could be platonic, of course. Mabel had snuggled with plenty of her female friends before, and it had been just that: two friends cuddling because cuddling was a fun thing to do. But there was a spark present. 

Pacifica was confusing and sometimes hard to read, but there’s no way that she didn’t feel it too. 

Mabel cooked stir-fry for dinner after Pacifica shot down her offer to go out by pointing out that it had started to snow again. Mabel gazed out the window with worry, musing that she hoped Pacifica’s flight wouldn’t be delayed (though she knew that Paz was flying in her family’s private jet, so she wondered how that worked). 

Pacifica didn’t look too opposed to the idea. 

The blonde had to be at the airport by eight, so Mabel took her leave at six when she learned that Pacifica still hadn’t packed. It was obvious that she’d been putting it off out of dread rather than simple procrastination, and once again, Mabel’s heart hurt for her. She wanted nothing more than to bring Pacifica home with her for break. 

She wanted to confront her about it, ask why she was so afraid of her parents. Just what had they done to her to make her like this?

But it wasn’t any of her business. She wasn’t Pacifica’s girlfriend, she had to remind herself. 

But god, did she wish she was.

Their goodbye was more emotional than intended, their hug drawn out for longer than it should have been. Even after the embrace had lasted far longer than friends should hug for and Pacifica finally started to pull away, Mabel only gripped her closer.

She didn’t want to let her go. Didn’t want to send her home to horrible parents who would do who-knows-what to her. 

She didn’t know what was going on, but every instinct driven by the blatant fear that would show on Pacifica’s face when her phone went off with her father’s ringtone screamed _danger_. 

When Mabel finally pulled away, she still kept a grip on the blonde, hands holding her at arm's length. Pacifica looked a bit uncomfortable now, but it was most likely because she wasn’t used to any sort of affection at all rather than because of Mabel specifically. 

“You’ll be safe, right?” she asked before she could stop herself, voice uncharacteristically worried. 

Pacifica looked surprised for a moment, but she quickly masked it with a frown. She looked away, muttering, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ll be perfectly fine.” 

Mabel smiled sadly, removing her hands and shoving them into the pockets of her coat as she stepped back towards the door. “Still.” 

Pacifica’s frown wavered, confusion filling her eyes. Her expression softened just slightly as she murmured, “Alright. I’ll be safe. Of course.” 

“Will you text me when your plane lands? Just so I know you got home safe.” Sure, it would be really late at night and Mabel wasn’t really used to staying up so late- that was more of Dipper’s thing- but she knew that she wouldn’t be able to sleep until she was certain that Pacifica was okay. 

“Yes, of course. And you’ll let me know when you get home tomorrow, too, right? What time is your flight again?”

“Noon. Er… nine, your time. And nine California time, too!” She smiled at the small realization. “So we’ll be on the same timezone still!” 

She could see Pacifica’s lips twitching with her urge to smile, unable to resist with Mabel’s usual eagerness returning. “Great.” 

There was a tense moment of silence before Mabel surged forward once more, surprising Pacifica with the hug that was much shorter than the first. “I’m gonna miss you, Paz,” she told her softly, avoiding her gaze. Huh. So apparently her cheeks _could_ still flush in embarrassment. 

Pacifica’s face was equally as red, even as she smiled sadly and murmured, “I’ll miss you, too.” 

\-----

Mabel didn’t let herself be too forlorn about not getting to see Pacifica; she was going to be seeing her twin in less than twenty-four hours, and that trumped any other sadness. There was nothing that could ruin her winter break for her. 

Once she got back to her apartment complex, she ducked into the mailroom to get her mail from her box. She had forgotten to check it during finals week, so it was piling up with bills and junk mail. She flipped through them in the elevator on her way up to her apartment, frowning at an unfamiliar envelope whose return address just said, “The Northwest Foundation.” 

She didn’t open it until she was back in her apartment and had changed into fuzzy, warm pajamas, putting a cup of water into the microwave so that she could make herself another cup of hot chocolate. She sat down at the table, curiosity peaking and making her open the unfamiliar envelope before any of the other bills. 

The paper was crisp, a detailed header at the top screaming ‘money’ and ‘big organization.’ Right next to the logo for the Northwest Foundation was the logo for her school, and Mabel remembered where she’d seen that name before. It was some big-name family who had bought out the school around the same time she’d started to attend it. She remembered seeing some school-wide email about it back in August, recognizing that this “foundation” was giving the school their much-needed funding, blah blah blah. 

The letter was typed, and Mabel felt a sinking feeling of dread in her stomach as she began to read. 

_Miss Pines,_

_On behalf of the Northwest Foundation, we regret to inform you that we will be decreasing our scholarship funding following the spring semester. Due to budget cuts and an anticipated decline in applicants, it will be impossible to continue to offer the amount of financial aid that we currently do._

The letter continued, but Mabel dropped it when the microwave beeped, signalling that her water was heated. She didn’t move, instead staring at the white paper contrasting the wood of her table. 

They were decreasing scholarships. Mabel was only attending this school because she was on a scholarship. 

She didn’t even need to read the rest of the letter to know what it was saying. They were taking away her scholarship, which meant that she wouldn’t be able to continue her schooling here the next year. 

She expected to feel sick, but instead, she just felt dizzy. Her head spun, so she dropped it into her hands, shoving the paper as far away on the table as it could go. 

There was no way her family would be able to afford to pay her tuition. She could kiss art school goodbye. 

Kiss Pacifica goodbye. 

Her hands shook. She was wrong. 

There _was_ something that could ruin her winter break.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger warning** on this chapter for a brief scene of **physical abuse** (and mentions of it throughout) along with **mental and emotional abuse**.

Mabel, Pacifica had learned, was Jewish, but that didn’t stop her from sending Pacifica an excited, _“MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!”_ text followed by a string of emojis on Christmas morning. 

It was cheerful enough to drag Pacifica out of bed on a day that she’d been otherwise dreading. She thanked Mabel for the niceties but didn’t get an answer back, so she figured that Mabel had likely texted her before going back to sleep. 

Her parents weren’t home when she sleepily wandered out to the kitchen; they had decided to spend Christmas morning with her grandparents rather than her, which she was completely fine with. They hadn’t even asked her to join; she knew that her grandmother didn’t approve of her decision to pursue an art rather than continuing the family business, and she was more than fine avoiding that trainwreck of an interaction. 

There was a note on the dining room table that told her that she could open the gifts under the tree at her leisure. As a cook prepared her breakfast and tea, she reread the note, tracing her father’s scrolled writing. By the time a worker had brought out some delicious-looking French toast that she never would have been allowed to eat if not for the special occasion, she had crumpled up the note in a tightly-clenched fist, manicured nails biting into skin. 

The past ten days had served well to remind her of why she had dreaded coming home. While they could have been worse, they were still a far cry from being capable of being deemed “okay.” 

It was ten days full of cold voices, sharp yells of, “Pacifica, stand up straight.” “Pacifica, you look a mess.” “Pacifica, a Northwest does not behave like that.”

It reminded her of why she flinched every time a hand was raised. Every time she walked through a door that set off a bell.

She had grown up so accustomed to her father’s way of keeping her obedient that she hadn’t realized the severity of the situation until she took tenth-grade Psychology. It was classical conditioning, like Pavlov’s dogs.

Except Pavlov’s dogs had been trained with the positive reinforcement of food, while Pacifica had been struck whenever she disobeyed a blatant command.

She was only a few bites into her French toast, but her appetite diminished quickly with the thoughts. She pushed the plate back, quickly downing the tea and relishing in the burn of it in her throat as she stood up. 

The gifts under the tree were in bags, not wrapped in paper, though she was sure her parents themselves hadn’t even been the ones to spare the time to bag them. They probably hadn’t even been the ones to go out and _buy_ them. 

She missed being a kid where Christmas mornings were full of joy and anticipation. Now, at age eighteen, she merely hauled the gifts to her room, where she opened a few but left most abandoned on the floor. It was all clothes and shoes and jewelry, as expected, and nothing really special when she was able to buy whatever she wanted at any time on a credit card connected to her father’s bank account.

Christmas was merely a formality in the Northwest household.

They’d be having a party that night, for the wealthy elite of the town and the surrounding area. It was a tradition that Pacifica disliked just as much as their summer gala, but she knew better than to complain. 

She lounged around for the better part of the morning, perking up significantly when Mabel woke up for the second time and replied to her text. She showered mid-afternoon, curling her hair after Mabel complained that she’d never seen it in any way other than straightened. By the time she was doing her makeup, she had Mabel on speakerphone because she didn’t have a free hand to answer texts with. 

“Why are you stressing so much about your makeup?” Mabel asked absently. Pacifica was stretched over her vanity counter, leaning close to the mirror to perfectly apply mascara.

“ _Because_ ,” Pacifica answered, exasperated, “I’ll get a lecture from my mother if I don’t.”

There was a momentary pause before Mabel, a bit hesitantly, mused, “Y’know, they don’t _own_ you-” 

“Don’t they?” Pacifica interrupted. 

Mabel didn’t say anything, and Pacifica instantly felt bad for her coldness.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, pulling back from the mirror and tucking her mascara back into her makeup bag. “I just… Today is a really stressful day, is all.” 

“I know, Paz.” If Pacifica could have seen her face, she imagined that Mabel would have been smiling sadly. “Try to have fun, though, okay?” 

Pacifica watched her reflection in the mirror. Her green dress clung perfectly to her form. Her hair fell down in ringlets, accented by a gold hair clip that matched her jewelry. Her makeup was perfect, much more than she ever bothered to do while in Pennsylvania. 

She looked the part of a perfect Northwest daughter, and the image she’d built up of “just Pacifica” was shattered.

“Yeah,” she breathed, forcing a polite smile at her reflection. “I’ll try.”

\-----

By the time she made it back out of her room, her parents had returned home and the grand ballroom was being decorated by a team of workers. People holding boxes and trays rushed by her, the breeze ruffling her hair. 

She was hoping to just make it to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water and then retreat to her room to hide until the party, but of course that couldn’t happen. She was five steps through the room when she was stopped by a short, cold, “Pacifica.”

She turned, instinctively shrinking under her father’s gaze. He scrutinized her, looking her up and down and obviously looking for some flaw to point out. When none were too apparent, he nodded in approval, mouth pressed in a firm line. “You look nice,” he said. She internally breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Thank you.” She couldn’t meet his eyes. Years of meeting a gaze that never looked pleased to see her hadn’t lessened the sting. 

Of course, she was reprimanded for this. “Pacifica, look at someone while they’re talking to you,” Preston snapped. Her eyes immediately flitted up to meet his. She wondered if they looked as emotionless as she currently felt inside. 

Still, he wasn’t pleased. He rolled his eyes. “God, how are we ever going to marry you off if you don’t even know basic manners?” 

The blow of the words was covered by her sheer shock at them. Surprise was the only thing that had her mask breaking down as she frowned and repeated, “... _Marry_ me _off_?” 

Preston’s gaze returned to her, cold as ice. “What, are you hard of hearing now, too?”

“N-no, I just-” Her hands were stretched out in front of her in a defensive pose, and she quickly brought them back towards herself at her father’s raised eyebrow. She missed wearing oversized sweaters and cardigans like she was so used to doing around Mabel; she had nothing to pick nervously at. She forced herself to take a deep breath before composing herself. “You realize that I’m _eighteen_ , right? That’s hardly old enough to start considering _marriage_.”

They were risky words, and she knew it. She was teetering at the edge of a cliff, just barely keeping her balance. Her heart was frozen in her chest. 

Preston scoffed. “Pacifica, royal families marry their daughters off at much younger ages.”

She was practically gaping now, the words not making any sense in her head. He couldn’t possibly be serious. This felt like a dream.

The shock of the conversation lowered her defenses. Her usual snippy side came back, and she was unable to stop herself before she snapped, “Uh, newsflash: we’re not _royalty_.” 

She heard his hand cutting through the air before it struck her face, so it wasn’t really any surprise when she ended up on the floor with a ringing in her ears. 

When she was younger, she would always watch TV shows and movies about this kind of situation. In them, it seemed that when the father hit his wife or child, he would immediately feel remorse, going to them and gushing about how he hadn’t meant it. How he’d only lost his temper. How sorry he was. 

Real life was nothing like TV. 

Preston’s expression didn’t waver, eyes full of disgust even as Pacifica clutched her stinging cheek and stared at him with eyes that were watering of their own accord. 

“You certainly _act_ like a spoiled-rotten princess, you _brat_ ,” he spat. 

He didn’t say anything else before he left the room. None of the workers stopped at the commotion; none of them even looked at her when they passed, averting their eyes. 

A sob threatened to wreck through her, but she choked it back. She was fine.

She’d be fine.

\-----

The party went as expected: hours of forced smiles and forced conversations with people who somehow knew her name.

Some knew that she was in art school and asked how it was treating her, while others questioned what she was studying and frowned when they learned that it wasn’t business-related. She treated both cases the same, with a vague explanation of the benefits of going to school for photography. Nobody actually seemed that interested, though she supposed she couldn’t blame them. She didn’t even bother to learn their names.

She didn’t talk to either of her parents for the first few hours of the party. She wondered if her father could see the swelling on her cheek underneath the layers of foundation she’d reapplied to cover it up. 

If anybody else could tell, they thought it better left unmentioned. 

The hours blurred together, conversations and classical music and a few cocktails thrown back before anybody could chastise her. They made speaking easier, loosening her tongue and making her smiles slightly less forced.

She sobered up immediately when her father called her over to talk to a group of people. 

It was a couple who looked to be around her parents’ age and a boy who was obviously their son and had to be a few years older than Pacifica. The adults were introduced so fast that Pacifica didn’t catch their names, but she did hear that the son was named Daniel. She shook their hands with a polite smile as she tried to register where she had heard their last name before. 

It didn’t take her long to realize that she’d heard it in passing as it was the name of the family that owned a logging company up in Washington, one of Northwest family’s biggest competitors. Pacifica frowned in confusion at the fake pleasantries even as her father, with his fake-chipper voice, explained how he thought that Pacifica and Daniel would “get on well.” 

Daniel’s parents seemed to agree, faux-polite voices joking that, “Daniel needed a nice girl to settle down with.” 

Pacifica wasn’t slow. It didn’t take much for her to realize that they were trying to set their children up for the possibility of merging businesses. 

While she wondered Daniel’s opinion on the subject, he certainly played his part well, offering Pacifica a seemingly-genuine smile. He was certainly attractive, with hair that matched the same chocolate brown of his eyes, but Pacifica couldn’t be less interested. 

Not when those eyes and that hair reminded her of the person that she truly wanted to be with. 

She only realized she’d been asked a question when the adults went silent and four sets of eyes landed on her, waiting for her response. She’d tuned out her father’s speaking with the roaring in her ears, so all she could do was take a hesitant step back like a scared animal. 

Her father’s eyes narrowed.

Pacifica felt like she was going to be sick. She swallowed before choking out a forced, “Excuse me,” and high-tailing it out of there as fast as she could in her heels. 

She picked up her clutch purse from a dining table on her way out of the room, immediately pulling out her phone, forcing her earbuds into her ears, and playing music right off of her iTunes library. The sound of a pop song that had been on a mixtape that Mabel made for her filled her ears, overcoming the roar of the crowd and the classical music playing in the background. She felt like she could breathe again, but she didn’t stop running until she was out of the ballroom. 

She couldn’t go to her own room. It was too predictable. Surely her father would send somebody to retrieve her immediately. 

For some reason, her instinctual inclination was to duck down a hallway she rarely entered and head straight for a hidden room that she was sure she wasn’t supposed to know about.

She’d found it as a kid when she’d wanted to play hide and seek with the staff- before her father told her that they were below her in social class and that she had no reason to be interacting with them for fun.

She moved the painting precariously out of place long enough for her to step inside, quickly glancing back behind her to ensure that the hallway was still empty. Once inside the room, she knocked the painting back into place, the darkness washing over her and being oddly comforting with the music playing from her headphones- a calming indie song, now. 

She unlocked her phone, swiping up to turn on her flashlight. She whirled around, using the light to survey the room as she accidentally inhaled dust, coughing. 

It’d been a long time since she’d been in here, but she remembered the paintings well. Physical documentations of the frauds her family had committed. 

She’d been about twelve when she’d first thought back to the room she used to hide in as a child. She had remembered the paintings and had wanted to see what they were about now that she was old enough to understand. 

She’d instantly regretted her decision to look.

Even now, she felt sick as she gazed up the brokenness of her family’s name. 

Her eyes were drawn to something that looked much more modern than the extravagant portraits leaning against the walls: a stack of paper, looking fresh out of a printer but still covered in a thin layer of dust. It hadn’t been here for as long for the paintings, but it had to have been a while. A few months, at least. She walked over to it, shining her light on it and frowning at the legal terms that immediately popped off the page. 

So her parents still used this room to hide their misdeeds, then. 

She took the stack of paper and sat down, leaning against one of the paintings and hoping it didn’t fall on her. She opened her messages and shot a quick text to Mabel. 

TO: Mabel Pines  
 **Emergency diversion talk needed.**

Mabel likely hadn’t been expecting a message from her, at least not this early into the evening. She knew that Pacifica expected the party to go until at least midnight, and it was only half-past nine now. Still, her response came quickly and urgently. 

FROM: Mabel Pines  
 **Want me to call?**

Pacifica called her instead. 

She answered on the third ring, sounding a bit breathless as she rushed out, “Is everything alright?” in lieu of a greeting. Her voice filled Pacifica’s ears through the earbuds, cutting off her music. In that moment, it was better than any song that Pacifica could have found in her library.

Pacifica swallowed. Her eyes scanned the paper on top of the stack. “Let’s have an aimless conversation so that I don’t have to think about my life.” More than anything, she just wanted to listen to Mabel talk, even if it wasn’t about anything important. 

There was a pause in which she was sure that Mabel was going to argue, protest that they needed to talk about whatever was going on, but then she asked, “Did you know that there’s a difference between a _button-down_ and a _button-up_ shirt?”

Pacifica paused in her reading, as she actually _hadn’t_ known that. “No, I didn’t.” She read another line of text, and swallowed at its implications. “Tell me about it.”

She could hear the grin in Mabel’s voice, words becoming background noise as she read the documents. “So this started because Dipper and Bill were arguing about the correct way to say it, and they asked for my input. Because, fashion student, _right_? So I should absolutely know which is the correct terminology. But I looked it up, and apparently there’s a difference! If it buttons all the way up in the front and has little buttons on the points of the collar, then it’s a button-down. But if it _doesn’t_ have the little buttons, then…”

Mabel’s words faded more into the background as Pacifica gasped at what was being spelled out on the page in front of her. If Mabel heard, she didn’t comment. 

Pacifica opened her camera app, switching on the flash as her flashlight automatically turned off. She began to photograph the documents, one page at a time. 

There were thirty-two pages in all. Thirty-two pages documenting tax fraud and other illegal operations that her father had apparently gotten up to recently. 

When Mabel finished her one-sided discussion about button-down versus button-up shirts, she seemed ready to switch to a new topic, but Pacifica cut her off with a soft, “Mabel.” 

“Yeah, Paz?”

Pacifica’s lips twitched up into a smile at the nickname. She steeled herself, taking a deep breath. “How many days are left of vacation?”

She imagined that Mabel was frowning in confusion, voice hesitant as she answered, “Uh… twelve, I think? Ten until I head back to Penn.”

Ten days. Ten days more of dealing with her parents. The bruise on her cheek seemed to ache at the thought. 

“Do you think…” Oh, god, she was crazy for asking. This was insane. Her parents would kill her. “Do you think I could come stay with you?”

There was a brief pause in when Mabel seemed to be trying to grasp her words before she gasped, “Of course! Oh my gosh, Paz, that would be great!” 

Pacifica chuckled nervously, setting the papers down so she could use her free hand to twirl a lock of hair around her fingers absently. “Don’t you need to ask your parents and make sure it’s okay?”

Mabel scoffed. “Psshhh, nah. I’ve already told them all about you. I’m sure they’d be excited to actually get to meet you!”

The blonde felt her cheeks flush at the idea that Mabel had, apparently, talked about her to her parents. She only wished that she could do the same, but she cringed remembering the first time she’d tried to tell her father about meeting a friend at school. 

Her father. There was no way he would ever approve of her leaving, especially not on such short notice and definitely not after what she’d pulled this afternoon and at the party. 

If she left, it’d be without permission. It’d be sneaking out. She’d be dead.

“So, when are you planning to leave?” Mabel asked before she could back out. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her head a bit light as she considered the risks of what she was going to do. 

She swallowed once more, trying to ground herself. “I can be there by late morning tomorrow.” She’d have to leave the house early, which meant getting a driver to take her to the airport based only on her command and not her parents’. It would mean her family’s private jet flying her to Piedmont without confirming with her father that that was what it was supposed to be doing. 

She made a mental note to call them tonight and make sure the plane was fueled. 

“Great!” Mabel’s grin had to be hurting her face by now, but her voice lightened a bit as she slowly asked, “Pacifica… you’d tell me if you were in any danger, right?”

Her fingers brushed against the mark on her cheek. Even with the feather-light touch, it stung. 

“Yeah.” Her lie was clear even to her. “Of course.”

Mabel didn’t sound convinced, but she didn’t press her on the subject. Pacifica suspected there’d be plenty of interrogations once they were together again in person. 

They worked out most of the details, Pacifica making a note on her phone of the airport that Mabel said was closest to her house. She assured the other girl that she would let her know when she left Oregon so that Mabel could plan accordingly. 

It was hardly eleven by the time they finished talking, but Mabel was already yawning. Pacifica figured she needed to make a final appearance at the party to at least somewhat appease her father before she stole back to her room to pack. They said their goodnights, Pacifica starting to buzz with excitement at the prospect of seeing Mabel again so soon. 

When the call ended, her music started to play again. She didn’t turn her flashlight back on, instead closing her eyes and resting her head back against the painting. 

She contemplated the photos of the incriminating documents that she now had saved on her phone, considering the weight they held. For now, she didn’t have any definite plans to use them, but the idea was still there, nagging at her head. 

She could ruin her father’s reputation. Ruin _him_. Get revenge for a life of abuse.

Granted, blackmail might have been morally ambiguous at best. It was fighting fire with fire, and all that. She knew that she had every right to destroy her family name- after all, all she would be doing is exposing her family for what they really are: liars, cheats, and overall _frauds_.

The slightest pang of guilt went through her. Would Mabel approve of her using blackmail? 

If she did, would that make her a bad person?

Her fingers clenched around the papers. A bitter smile stretched across her face. Of course she was a bad person.

She was a Northwest, after all.


	7. Chapter 7

Pacifica only spoke to Dipper with faux politeness for a few hours before her walls broke down and she reverted to her usual brashness. 

Part of this could be attributed to Bill, Mabel was sure. Pacifica and Dipper both had this way of giving polite smiles and reciting pleasantries first and foremost- Pacifica’s likely as a result of her overbearing parents, and Dipper’s because Mabel had threatened to tell Bill about the Lamby-Lamby dance if Dipper messed up her chances with Pacifica. 

Bill didn’t bother with this. He had nobody to impress, he’d told Mabel before. He also had no shame and no filter, which was likely why his first question to Pacifica was which method of torture she found preferable. 

To her credit, Pacifica only paled slightly before stuttering out, “I- I’m not sure.”

Bill had simply _tsk_ ed and muttered, “Pity.”

Bill’s… _Bill_ ness was likely the thing that broke down Pacifica’s walls, as she couldn’t help but snap witty comebacks to him. Soon enough, this moved over to Dipper, as well, and the two quickly got along well with friendly bickering. 

Mabel couldn’t have been more pleased.

Her parents also took quickly to Pacifica, which was no surprise. Pacifica surprised her by warming up to them surprisingly quickly, easily falling into casual conversation over dinner on her first night in Piedmont. Mabel had to suspect that this was also likely as a result of Bill- after seeing how forward Dipper’s boyfriend was with Mr. and Mrs. Pines, it would be difficult for Pacifica to feign politeness. 

It was nice to see Pacifica happy and interacting with others for once. Usually, the two of them were off in their own space, and while she certainly didn’t mind alone time with Pacifica, she was glad that the girl was able to socialize and not seem too bothered by it. 

What seemed to be both the best and the worst thing about Pacifica staying with them was that she had to share Mabel’s room. 

“We don’t have a guest room,” Mabel had apologized as she’d led Paz to drop her bags off in her room. The walls were painted pink and covered in posters of bands, pictures of her and her friends, and some of her better art projects, and Pacifica had instantly walked over to examine them. “We used to, but Dipdop moved into it when we were thirteen and decided we were too old to share a room.”

“That’s fine,” Pacifica had assured her. 

At the time it _was_ fine, but it became slightly more of an issue that night when it was time to go to bed.

Mabel’s singular twin bed became the elephant in the room after she and Pacifica had both showered, brushed their teeth, and changed into their pajamas. Once they were both in Mabel’s room, lingering around awkwardly as Christmas music poured out of the radio a day late, Mabel figured there was nothing left to do but bring it up.

“I can sleep on the floor, since you’re the guest,” Mabel offered, throat dry.

Pacifica jumped at her voice, as if she had forgotten that she wasn’t alone from where she was running her fingertips over a stuffed bear on Mabel’s bed. She pulled her hand away, turning to look at the brunette. 

Mabel tried to hide her smile. Pacifica was so cute in her silky lavender pajamas.

Pacifica’s face was flushed, but she puffed up and tried to look indignant. “Mabel, we’re _adults_ ,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I think we’re mature enough to sleep in the same bed.”

Mabel ignored the fact that them being children would have been a better argument for why they could sleep in the same bed without issue. She was too elated to bother, her face breaking into a grin. “Okay!” 

Pacifica blinked, as if not having expected her to agree so easily. She shifted awkwardly, fingers curling in a lock of hair as she didn’t meet Mabel’s gaze. “So, uh-” 

Mabel was already walking past her to shut off the radio and turn on her bedside lamp before returning to the door to flick off the light. “You want the wall?” she asked, pulling back her bird-printed comforter and the sheet underneath. 

“I, uh.” Mabel didn’t turn around for fear that Pacifica would see her eager grin and be put off. “No, I’ll take the edge.” 

“Great.” Mabel started to climb onto the bed but paused, turning around. “Wait, do you have any special sleeping conditions? Like a little bit of light, or background noise?” Mabel had an overhead fan on, but she knew some people needed to sleep with white noise.

A look flashed across Pacifica’s face, something that would have been unreadable to anybody who knew her less than Mabel did. It was the look she got whenever Mabel surprised her with an act of kindness. The look of shock at the idea that anybody would ever be concerned about her.

“No, this is fine,” Pacifica assured her. When Mabel just gave her a skeptical look, she gave what she probably thought was a reassuring smile but came out looking more forced than anything else.

Mabel climbed into bed, moving as close to the wall as possible before she slid down under the covers. Once Paz had also gotten in bed and reached over to shut off the light, Mabel rolled over so that they were face to face. 

They locked eyes in the darkness. The tension only lasted for a few seconds before Mabel giggled out of her own nervousness, and Pacifica chuckled awkwardly. 

They both had to have their arms tucked against their chests to avoid touching in the narrow space provided on the twin-sized bed, and Mabel had to bite her cheek to keep from asking Pacifica if she could put her arm around her, for comfort’s sake. 

Luckily, Pacifica spoke before Mabel could make a fool out of herself. 

“Do you think I’m a bad person?”

The question was asked with Pacifica’s eyes now cast down, spoken so softly that Mabel almost felt like Pacifica was talking to herself. However, after a momentary pause, she looked up, her eyes shining. 

Mabel didn’t miss a beat. “No.”

She said it confidently enough to throw Pacifica off-guard. The blonde’s eyebrows knitted together, frowning slightly. “But-”

“I think that you like to _think_ that you’re a bad person,” Mabel interjected. “But you’re not, Paz. You’re not.”

Pacifica bit her lip. For a moment, her guard was down, her insecurities shining through. She had none of the faux-confidence that she usually tried to present herself with. Mabel wanted to kiss her, assure her that she was beautiful and amazing and that she would never let anything hurt her again. 

Oh, screw it.

Mabel moved one of her hands, slowly enough that she wouldn’t startle Pacifica. Still, the blonde’s eyes were drawn to the movement, her breath seeming to catch in anticipation. 

Mabel moved to brush the girl’s hair out of her face, but her fingers accidentally brushed against the girl’s cheek, right below her eye. She’d hardly touched her, but Pacifica jumped as if she’d been shocked, releasing a soft whimpering sound. Mabel yanked her hand back and tucked it against her chest once more as she started to apologize. 

“No, no, don’t say you’re sorry. Don’t. Fuck.” Pacifica’s hands scrubbed over her own face. Even through the muffling of her hands, Mabel could tell that she was in tears- or at least on the verge of them. 

“No, I _am_ sorry,” Mabel reaffirmed. Her heart lurched. That’d been stupid. Of course Pacifica didn’t want her to kiss her. “I shouldn’t have… I should have asked if it was okay to touch you.” 

There was a pause before Pacifica slowly dragged her hands down from her face. Her eyes weren’t wet like Mabel had been expecting, but they were swollen and red-rimmed. And they were clouded with confusion. She took a deep breath that was verbally shaky before murmuring, “Mabel, that’s- that’s not why I pulled away.”

Mabel frowned, ignoring the stinging in her chest. “Then why?” Ugh, she hated how defensive she sounded. 

Pacifica only hesitated for a moment before she reached out and grabbed one of Mabel’s hands. Her fingers were cold and clammy, but it wasn’t off-putting. 

She brought Mabel’s hand up to her face so only her fingertips brushed against the spot she’d touched before. After she could tell that Mabel understood what she was doing, she dropped her hand, leaving Mabel to run her fingertips over the spot. Now that she was touching it, she could feel the obvious swelling there. Pacifica shuddered even under the feather-light touch. 

Mabel’s mouth had gone dry, her stomach doing somersaults in disgust. It was obviously a bruise, and now that she could feel it, she could feel the texture of what was probably multiple layers of foundation. Pacifica had gone lengths to cover it up, even after her shower. 

“Did your parents do this?” she asked. Her voice sounded like a scared child’s, and she cleared her throat. 

There was a long pause before Pacifica gave the slightest of nods, barely moving her head a centimeter. “My father,” she replied quietly, voice hoarse and cracking. 

Mabel had expected this- even before tonight, she’d always known that there was something wrong with the girl’s parents- but hearing it confirmed shattered her. She resisted the great urge to throw her arms around the girl because suddenly physical contact was likely the _last_ thing she needed right now. “Oh, Pacifica,” she breathed. She hated herself for not having something better to say. 

“‘s fine,” Paz mumbled in response, once again casting her eyes downwards. “I’m used to it.”

“Well, you _shouldn’t_ be,” Mabel answered without missing a beat. Her stomach was twisted in knots, her fists clenching. Oh, if she were able to talk to Pacifica’s dad… 

For now, though, she had a bigger issue at-hand.

“Pacifica,” she whispered. Blue eyes flicked up to meet hers, wide and scared. “Can I touch you?”

This time, there was no pause before the girl nodded. 

Mabel wasted no time in slipping an arm around the blonde’s waist, tugging her closer and drawing a startled gasp out of her before Pacifica relaxed. One of her arms draped over Mabel as well, the other sprawling on a pillow, and she put her head down, apparently done with the conversation. Mabel smiled, shutting her eyes. 

While she doubted that Pacifica was used to this close of contact, it didn’t take long for her breaths to become shallow and even. Mabel was quick to follow her into sleep.

\-----

The next week passed by quickly and with ease. Mabel was surprised at how well Pacifica fit into her family’s routine, eating meals together when her own family usually didn’t and playing board games at night with mugs of hot chocolate clutched tight.

Her phone seemed to ring often with calls from her family, but she mostly ignored them in lieu of shooting them texts back to assure them that she was fine and that she knew that she was in trouble. 

Mabel had asked how much “trouble” she was going to be in, exactly, the next time she saw her parents, and Pacifica had just paled and looked away.

She’d left it at that.

Mabel didn’t try to kiss her again. Nights were spent lying close together in bed, either talking about Pacifica’s family until they were both too emotionally drained to continue or just cracking jokes and asking existential questions until they both passed out. It was nice. Mabel could get used to it. 

\-----

The board game “Trouble” was a game of luck, based purely on your roll, as Bill bitterly pointed out. This was likely why Pacifica won, making it her fourth consecutive win over the last two nights. 

“I would have kicked your ass if this was Monopoly,” Bill muttered bitterly as Mabel started to put the game pieces back into the box. She could hear Pacifica stifle a laugh. 

“I’m willing to take that challenge,” Pacifica retorted. 

Mabel had quickly learned that Pacifica had an extremely competitive side, and she _loved_ it. She also learned that Paz was apparently outstanding at miniature golf, which Mabel herself wasn’t half-bad at. They promised to play each other once the weather warmed up and the outdoor courses opened back up. 

They didn’t end up getting to Monopoly, as Dipper wanted to move on to watching movies and gave Bill a look that was too sweet for him to resist, apparently. They all migrated to the couch, Bill immediately sprawling across Dipper’s lap and Mabel and Pacifica awkwardly keeping a respectable two inches between themselves. 

They pulled up Netflix on the big screen and somehow ended up on _Ghost Adventures_ rather than a movie. Pacifica idly commented that she’d never seen the show before, and startled at Dipper and Bill’s unison outraged cry of, “ _What?_ ” 

“We’re starting from the beginning,” Dipper muttered, stopping the episode that had just started and going to the menu to choose Season 1, Episode 1. 

While _Ghost Adventures_ was hardly a scary show, Pacifica still jumped slightly at some parts. She shifted ever-closer to Mabel, who pretended not to notice and fought back the smile creeping up on her lips as Pacifica’s arm (which happened to be clad in the fabric of one of Mabel’s sweaters) brushed against hers and didn’t pull away. 

Mabel was just glad that her brother and his dumb boyfriend weren’t the type to make out during movies. 

They were two and a half episodes in and rapidly approaching midnight before the twins’ mom came out to the living room and sleepily asked if they wouldn’t mind moving to Dipper’s room since, “Your father and I are trying to sleep and it’s a bit difficult with Dipper out here screaming at Zak Bagans.” 

Dipper had flushed and laughed sheepishly before wordlessly shutting off the TV. 

They all migrated to Dipper’s room, where the four of them had to huddle around his laptop screen to watch the episode. Pacifica was half-asleep with her head resting on Mabel’s shoulder by the end. 

Before they could start the fourth episode, Pacifica stood up with a yawn, sleeping mumbling that she was going to go take a shower. Almost immediately after she left the room, Bill stood up as well, loudly announcing that he was going to the kitchen to get a snack. 

The twins kept the show paused, wordlessly exchanging a look as soon as they were alone in the room. 

“Sooo,” Mabel said after a beat of silence, a grin forming on her face, “What do you think of Pacifica?”

Dipper’s lips quirked. “She’s been here a week, and you’re just now asking?”

Mabel faux-pouted. “I haven’t gotten much of a chance to talk to you alone, bro-bro.” 

It was true. Even when Pacifica wasn’t around her, Bill was usually around Dipper. They were in desperate need of private twin conversation. 

Dipper shut the laptop between them and sat back against the headboard, steepling his fingers. “I think she’s good for you,” he answered slowly. “She’s so different, y’know? She compliments you well.” 

Mabel had thought the same, but it still made her face heat up to hear someone else spelling it out so clearly. “I’ve really fallen for her,” she mumbled, picking at a loose string hanging from her pajama pants. 

Dipper smiled. “I know.”

The butterflies in Mabel’s stomach burned up when she remembered the letter from her school that still sat on her kitchen counter in Pennsylvania. “I’m not going to get to see her after this year, though,” she murmured, a sad resolution setting in. They hadn’t talked about it since earlier on in break, before Pacifica had arrived, but she’d long-since accepted that her year at art school was quickly drawing to a close. 

Her twin frowned, sitting forward a bit. “You don’t know that, Mabes,” he tried to reassure her. “They might offer more scholarship money, or- we might be able to figure out some way to pay for it, or maybe-”

“You know Mom and Dad won’t be able to afford art school tuition on top of yours,” she interrupted, a bit defensive. She hadn’t meant for it to come out as an accusation- as if Dipper going to a nice university was somehow the thing preventing her from going to hers- but his face fell anyways, a look of guilt flashing across it. “That came out wrong,” she mumbled, looking down.

“It’s fine. I know what you meant.” Dipper looked like he wanted to reach out and comfort her, but he seemed to realize that that wasn’t the best idea at the moment. Despite Mabel having been the one to bring it up, she just wanted to move on from the conversation, but Dipper kept grasping at straws. “Maybe Grunkle Stan and Great Uncle Ford would be able to help out some?” 

She wanted to instantly deny it, say that Grunkle Stan would never willingly chip in money towards something that wasn’t going to be making him money in return, but it wasn’t true. Dipper had a point. There wasn’t much that Stan wouldn’t do for them. And Grunkle Ford had made a lot on a recent project, so it wasn’t like either of them were really short on cash… 

But Mabel couldn’t ask that of them. She wouldn’t. 

She wasn’t that desperate just yet.

“I’m going to get a glass of water,” she choked out, standing up. She ignored the fact that tears were stinging at her eyes, willing her to just let go and cry and let her brother comfort her as she lamented over the idea of no longer getting to go to her dream school. She was out the door before Dipper could stop her. 

She scrubbed at her eyes as she stumbled down the stairs, trying to calm her breathing and not cry now that she was alone. She managed to get herself in check by the time she made it to the kitchen, where she froze upon hearing voices.

Two voices. Bill and Pacifica. 

Her first thought was confusion, as Paz had said that she was going to shower, but her second thought was that she wanted to know what they were talking about. It seemed silly, because why would she eavesdrop? What secrets could the two of them have? Paz had probably just come down to get a drink herself and ended up striking a conversation with Bill. 

But they were speaking in hushed tones, and Mabel couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling that it wasn’t just because they were being courteous and trying not to wake her parents. 

She flattened herself against the wall, holding her breath as she caught the end of Bill’s sentence. 

“... hide it from her forever, you know.” 

Pacifica was quick to hiss in response, “I can certainly try.” 

Mabel frowned in confusion, but didn’t yet interrupt. Now that it really did sound like they were hiding something, she needed to know what was going on. 

“She’ll find out eventually,” Bill continued, and she couldn’t tell if he was angry or smirking. It was sometimes difficult to know with Bill. “Even if you manage to make it through to the end of the school year, she’s going to come out to Gravity Falls at some point. Dipper’s planning to spend next summer there as Stanford’s intern, and she’s sure to follow.”

Mabel startled at the confirmation that they were talking about her. They couldn’t possibly be speaking of anyone else. 

“Maybe by then I can- I can tell her that-” 

“That what?” Bill challenged. “That you’ve been lying to her?” 

Mabel’s heart seemed to stop.

“I haven’t been _lying_ ,” Pacifica hissed. “I’ve just been… hiding the truth.” 

“You think that Shooting Star’s going to be pleased when she figures out that you’ve been _hiding the truth_ about who you are? That’s kind of a big thing.” 

Mabel couldn’t listen to this anymore. She retreated a few steps up the stairs and purposely tried to make noise coming down them, whistling to herself. By the time she entered the kitchen, Bill and Pacifica had separated as if they’d never been talking. 

Mabel went straight to the cupboard to grab a glass before getting water from the dispenser on the fridge. Both of the blondes watched her as if she was a ticking time-bomb, waiting to see if she’d heard and if she was going to explode on them. 

She didn’t. She just got her glass of water and returned to Dipper’s room, pretending that her hands weren’t trembling. 

Pretending that she didn’t know that something was horribly wrong.


End file.
